


Levitating

by syntheticvision



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Dom Steve Rogers, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Hydra (Marvel), Knifeplay, Nipple Clamps, Oral Sex, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Praise Kink, Restraints, Sex Club, Spanking, Steve Likes to Research, Wax Play, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27071071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticvision/pseuds/syntheticvision
Summary: Steve Rogers is a simple man.Save the world, allow the team to roast him occasionally and try to keep up with technology. Not quite in that order but it keeps him busy.And during his free time, he's casually wondering what it would be like to dominate a willing participant.That part he keeps to himself.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 158
Kudos: 278





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 

When the dust settled and the buildings stopped creaking, the only sounds of the teams' heaving breaths amid the quiet breaking up the tense aftermath of battle, Steve longed for something sweet, beautiful and pliable in his hands. A leftover feeling from when he wasn't saving the world and its inhabitants. The feeling faded out like the last candle on a cake, blown away by the pressure to not indulge in these thoughts that would plague him. Not when there was still so many people in this world hellbent on causing strife. Busy was an understatement.

During those moments of silence, when the Quinjet was in stealth mode with the rest of the team asleep, he'd think about how it would feel to have a body underneath him, soft and willing to please, teeth crushing against lips and eyes shimmering with tears waiting for him to give permission for them to fall apart. When he thinks about it in greater detail, he grips the controls harder, willing away the evidence of his thoughts that materialize underneath his uniform. He can fantasize like this when it's quiet, no one there to intrude or ask why his mouth is clenched so tight. The moment someone wakes, he's brought back to reality and shores up the imagery for another time.

It now comes like second nature, being able to switch it on and off, the ability to switch to a more "appropriate" topic. Half the team thought he was a prude and the other half... well, he wondered what they thought. Natasha was the closest to finding out, the way she would rib him about hiding his true nature before adding a disclaimer.

As the saying went, there was a little bit of truth to every 'just kidding'.

Not that he was afraid of his wants. He'd survived much worse than the teasing from the team than for them to find out what he truly entertained on his time off. He was also certain that Tony could probably explain the ins and outs of having absolute possession of a woman underneath him than his own fantasies.

For now, baseball cap pulled over his brow and his eyes trained on the crackled linoleum on the floor, Steve searches for another piece to add to his collection. He's shrewd to a point, making mental notes of the material, durability and price. It had taken courage to step into this particular shop, having hesitated multiple times before he ended up going inside. It's much cleaner than the ones he'd walked past prior, even down to the overly friendly salesgirl who squints like she recognizes him before she shakes her head and says that he reminds her of someone. She got him acquainted with the shop, down the aisles of lube and condoms, stopping briefly at the expansive sex toys that still makes the tips of his ears turn red. His last purchase was a pair of cuffs, Swarovski crystals embedded in the metal that glittered in the light as he had held them up to inspect them. His particular research on these had taken a few hours before he had come back the next day to buy them.

Today he was in the mood for something a little more enticing. As was his usual routine, he was quiet, giving a nod to the cashier who was polite enough the favor. Aisle three held the nipple clamps, something he'd poured hours over. He'd selected the ones he'd finally decided on, holding the adjustable clamps in his hand while he read the back of the package. Definitely for beginners and something that could be used over time and changed to various intensities.

He paid in cash, like he always did to not arouse suspicion. He clutched the small paper bag to his chest, opening his jacket to place it inside the pocket when he collided with another body, sending the bag to the ground, the package sliding out of the bag.

"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry," a voice apologized, reaching down to pick up the bag. He saw a flash of thigh high stockings under her black dress, looking away as quickly as he had seen them.

"It's fine," Steve responded, watching as the woman in front of him handed him the bag back. She'd seen what the contents were. He'd known that by how long she'd stared at the top of it before she slid it back inside the bag.

"Here you go."

One look on her pretty face was all Steve needed to feel the rush of embarrassment that crept back toward his ears once more while he studied the ground, holding onto the package tightly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to run into you. I'm running late for my job," she muttered, brushing her long hair back as she glanced at her watch, chewing her lip slowly.

"Don't worry about it."

The last thing he needed was for her to do a double take - which is exactly what she did - taking a step back and blinking in disbelief, her eyes wide in surprise as her full lips formed into an o.

"Sorry, uh, Steve Rogers?"

His jaw clenched at her question. He would not dignify her question with an answer, let alone acknowledge that he had heard her.

"Sorry," she apologized again, realizing her blunder, looking at her watch once more. "Shit, I'm going to be late. Sorry again."

She maneuvered around him, giving him a wide berth while she continued on her way. He turned slightly to watch her walk briskly and turn the corner. Their interaction ending as quickly as it started.

But as Steve headed back to his apartment, he couldn't get the image of her surprised face out of his head.

Or the way her legs looked in her thigh high socks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter but expect the rest of this to be longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a restless Steve picks up a card to an exclusive club and debates his choices, while still thinking about the encounter with the stranger, who has troubles of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

It's three am and no amount of tossing and turning helps with his restless.

His bed is too soft, despite the firmest mattress that money can buy and he finds himself at his old boxing club, opening the door to the twenty-four hour gym. There are a total of five people inside, two off to the side speaking quietly while they pack up their equipment, deep in conversation while he strides past. They pay him no attention, regulars at this time of night who have grown acquainted to seeing him at all hours of the night. The other three were scattered around. One on a treadmill, deep in their pace with oversized headphones as their feet pound the thin rubber. Two others inside the boxing ring, a friendly spar that Steve barely notices as he bounds the athletic tape around his hands. There is a pause to examine his hand and the thought of what it would be like to bound a pair of wrists with it. Steve's always been good with tying knots, it kept him occupied when he was bedridden all those years ago, an old Boy Scout book that his mother had bought him to keep his mind off of the fact he was missing more school.

The tape wraps around his fingers and his mind wanders back to crossed wrists, wrapped so tight that no amount of struggling would give them any room to move, fingers stretching out in a plea, the veins in the wrists slightly visible with every movement.

Steve does not entertain the thought of what the plea would entail. Not here.

He places one of the punching bags on the hook once he finishes wrapping his hands, eyeing the bag before he gets into his usual stance. This is what he's used to - fighting whatever is in his way - and ignoring the thoughts that hover around him.

Black thigh high socks has been a recurring theme. The inch of skin that had him wondering what his hand would feel like sliding up the thin skirt. He didn't have to wonder, Steve just _knows_ that her skin is soft, like the first bloom of a flower petal.

He punches the bag harder, every hook that connects an outlet for the synapses that are firing wildly.

Every stretch of his arm, the fist to the heavy material, garners long looks from the sparring partners who have now left the ring and are watching from the sidelines. They've seen his intensity before but not like this. Raw, powerful jabs that eventually reach the culmination of the bag going flying. The cords of his muscles are coated in a sheen of sweat while he catches his breath, dipping down to grab the bag that has begun to spill sand onto the ground, tossing it over his shoulder to place it upright with the others he had punched through. They'll be patched up with duct tape by the time he returns.

He's restless still but tired for the moment, unwrapping the tape from his hands slowly, ignoring the sound of his phone that pings muffled inside his duffel bag. Tony never sleeps, at least not the way normal people would and Steve is almost certain that if he pulls his phone from his bag that he'll be greeted with pictures of Tony's newest creations. Their friendship is weird this way. Knowing each other is awake at this ungodly hour goes back to the first time they met and he was introduced to a cell phone. Tony's patient in his own way, downloading apps to his phone and explaining them in detail before he realizes Steve won't ever use them. That's a lie, of course. He'd used it for his research, immediately clearing his browser history with a cleaner. He isn't quite ready to discuss his proclivities with the team just yet.

Perhaps now he'll allow himself to sleep, tossing his bag over his shoulder after he pulls the phone from his pocket. His guess was correct. There's a picture of another suit, mounted and shining in the overhead light. The group of pictures that follow are of the various angles. Tony's proud of his work, yet seeks approval from the one he knows will tell him the complete truth. Steve gives him the thumbs up emoji, the one he uses so much that it holds more weight than some of his own words.

The sparring partners are gone and so is the treadmill patron, leaving the two off to the side, who are exchanging jokes before they push open the door. Steve turns at just the right moment to see a business card fly out from the pocket, floating down onto the ground. Ever helpful, Steve bends down to take it, examining the card with a raised eyebrow. The emblem of a candle, hot wax melting down the side with the word IGNIS in all caps in calligraphy. The cardstock is feels expensive in his fingers, let alone the typography. Whatever this is, it's simple for a business card, no address or phone number listed. It doesn't take long for Steve to follow behind, one of the men whipping around quickly, his arm raised in defense. Steve does not engage, understanding that regardless of the decade, no one wants to be followed in the middle of the night. His breath is warm in the frigid night air, whisps of white forming while he speaks.

"You dropped this," Steve apologizes, holding up the card between his fingers.

The smaller of the two men relaxes his stance, the fight or fight out of his system at who stands in front of him.

"Sorry about that, Captain. Didn't expect to see you."

The card still lingers between his fingers, anticipating that they will pluck it from him and continue on their way. The taller of the two notices the words on it and a look of curiosity appears on his face.

"Ever visited there, Sir?"

"I don't know what _there_ is, gentleman."

"Trust me," the smaller one interjects, rubbing his hands together as he shivers. "You'd know if you had. Keep the card. Not sure if a fine, upstanding man like yourself would be interested in the, uh, activities of this club but I'm sure they woudn't turn you away."

"Doesn't sound like my kind of party," Steve replies, his hand falling down to his side.

"That's the point," the taller one quips with a laugh. "Like my friend here said. Keep the card. Have a good night, Captain."

They leave him after putting up their hands to wave. There's a trashcan within reach and Steve examines the card once more before he shoves it into his pocket.

He'll research it later.

🕯

One more hour to go until I can go home. It hasn't been terrible tonight but the shift has dragged on. I stopped looking at my watch when time seemed to stand still.

I’m milking my time behind the counter, placing drinks on my silver tray when Kimber, my favorite co-worker, storms in, her body shaking with the tray under her arm. She and I are on the usual closing shift, nothing out of the ordinary.

Except tonight, she looks ready to cry, her lower lip trembling before the tray goes flying against the wall. The sound is loud enough for anyone within earshot to hear but I know she doesn’t care.

"Rich fucking assholes," she barks out before she takes a deep breath. "I don't care if they tip well. Nobody talks to me like that.”

She isn't one for dramatics and never has been. Whatever this is, it was enough to piss her off to the point of tears. Her once perfect ponytail is askew, tendrils of hair floating down her face as angry tears stream down her cheeks. I've lingered enough in the back and I'm sure I'm going to get caught but I can't just up and leave. She's been my only friend since I hired in and I can't help but ask what has gotten her so upset.

“What happened?”

”Senator Stern is an asshole. He propositioned me twice while I was serving their drinks." There's a look of disgust in her eyes

Rich fucking asshole was right. Kimber wiped her eyes, blinking rapidly at me while she lifted her gaze.

“How’s my mascara?”

I leaned over to take a long look. Her makeup was perfect as always, not an eyelash out of place.

”Flawless.”

She sniffed in approval, lifting herself up and picking up her tray.

”Good. Everything okay with you? You seem distracted tonight.”

“Suite two just gives me a weird vibe," I confess, arranging the drinks on my tray.

Weird was an understatement. I felt my stomach clench at the thought of having to go back inside the room. It was big enough to move around, sofas on either side with connecting bedrooms off to the side.

It wasn’t the suite that gave me a weird feeling but who was inside of it. The same man who always requested that I serve them their drinks, both inside the club and when he retired to the suite. There is a lot I hate about working here: the long hours, patronizing customers and the amount of filth I’ve trained myself to ignore. On one weekend, I can make my entire month’s rent just on tips. The uniform of a short black skirt and white top with thigh high stockings certainly helps with the generous amount of tips but garners no boundaries when it comes to being ogled.

The copious amount of money isn’t a fair trade for dignity or safety. We’re supposed to be servers and that’s it. No happy endings, no lap dances and absolutely no fraternizing. There are girls who are hired for those special set of skills and I am not one of them. They have a higher pay grade, a threshold that takes training. Kimber flirted with the idea once but never went through with it. She wouldn't tell me the details, only that the money was never going to be worth it.

Judging by how the man in Suite Two likes to stare, it makes me believe he thinks I’m interested that line of work. I’ve begged for someone else to take over but whoever he is, the answer is always no with the reasoning that he is a huge donor to the club. When he visits, it's always me that he requests.

Membership to the club is by referral only, word of mouth and invite via a business card. It’s watermarked to avoid just anyone coming in off the street who happens to be good at forgery. I’ve seen people escorted off property and never heard from again.

Kimber is a tier higher than me, which means she sees the establishment for what it really is - a place for people to indulge in their fantasizes without judgement or prying. If it’s legal, it’s allowed, with the exception of water sports. Whatever that is. It all takes place underground, down an elevator that is operated by retina scan only.

I’m happy to stay on the first floor. Senator Stern is a regular underground and I would rather not see what activities he partakes in.

A head sticks through the door. Wendy, our boss, glares through thick rimmed glasses at both of us. A tirade is coming, I can see it by the twitch in her wrinkled mouth, her eyes narrowing at us in annoyance.

“I figured I’d find you two in here. If that tray is scratched in any way, it’s coming out of your pay. We still have patrons. Get back to work,” Wendy ordered Kimber, her English accent thick and reeking with authority before she turned to me. “And as for you, Mr. Pierce has been waiting for twenty minutes for his drinks. Unacceptable.”

He could wait longer as far as I was concerned. Kimber rolled her eyes and snapped up her tray, disappearing down the hall and back underground.

“He pays good money to make sure you’re serving him his drinks. Or have I forgotten to remind you?”

I gritted my teeth at her question. I’ve had bad bosses before but Wendy could be the worst. Saccharine sweet at first when I was being interviewed, relatable enough that I let my guard down to tell her my life story while I was being trained. In her, I had found a second mother, nurturing and kind until I refused to be one of her 'pets' that performed in the underground. Things had never been the same since.

“Hurry up before he changes his mind and I rethink your employment here.”

She and I both know I need this job. The hours are flexible and the money is good. I’m still in debt from my student loans and the thought of trying to find another job in this economy makes me anxious.

I pick up my tray, balancing the weight of it before I move past her and down the hall. No amount of pushback works, she's well versed in barbs that could sting even the most hardened girl who works here. Fear is her favorite brand of compliance.

The club has always been upscale - beautiful paintings on the walls, classical music filtering from the speakers and the plush carpet that was flown in from somewhere in France that cost a fortune but felt like stepping on a cloud. No expense was spared for the patrons who roamed these halls and Wendy would never let me forget it.

My stomach clenches once I reach the dark cherry oak door. My hand splayed under the tray like I’ve always done, two quick knocks in succession before I wait.

Sometimes he likes to keep me waiting. Never longer than twenty minutes by my calculations. I try to pull down my skirt, knowing full well that the well rounded ass I was blessed with looks great in jeans but is a nuisance when wearing a skirt like this one that continues to ride up with every step.

When the door finally opens, I put on the charm like I was trained to do, even if makes me nervous to see him stare at me up and down. He's in his late 50's, thick sandy blond hair and weathered face. In his younger years, he was probably handsome but too much sun and little sunscreen has aged him. Despite this, he's powerful, down to the way he carries himself and the bespoke suit that he wears.

“I thought you forgot about me,” he quipped, opening the door wider, allowing me just enough space that I brush up against his suit jacket. The click of the door closing makes my skin prickle and I slide the tray onto the bar counter. Mr. Pierce says my name while I place napkins under the drinks. It's too familiar and we don't wear name tags. Too risky. But he knows my name and that's enough to make me pause.

"That is your name, isn't it? Beautiful. Fitting."

He's far away enough that there is distance between us but his voice is commanding enough that his comment requires an answer. I nod, gripping the tray. I won't turn around, not when I'm still trying to catch my breath. The hallways are monitored and bouncers are always at the ready. That alone doesn't help when I hear his footsteps cross the room, his hand reaching out for a drink close to me. The wedding ring on his finger does not give me any relief.

"Do you know why I request you?" The ice cubes clinked in his glass while he took a sip, waiting for me to respond. My mind switched off, not a single reason coming to me.

He places the empty glass on my tray, eyes still watching - wandering - and I shrug.

"I'm prompt," I offer, hoping he'll drop the direction of this conversation.

"Not quite." Mr. Pierce was close enough that it was uncomfortable, my personal bubble invaded while he took another drink. "You're obedient. That's a fine trait."

I could smell his cologne, faint with the mix of absinthe from his glass. Touching was off limits. He knew it as well as I did. What he was doing was much worse. Hovering enough to keep me on the edge, my knuckles aching from how hard I was holding the handles of the tray.

"Is there anything else I can get you, Mr. Pierce?" I hate how my voice wavers while I'm trying to get up the courage to leave. The door is only a few steps away.

"That's a loaded question. For now, no. I'm content." His eyes roam down my body and linger on my backside. "Thank you for your hospitality. I'll be looking forward to our next visit. There's something I'd like you to consider when we meet again."

"What is that, Mr. Pierce?" I asked, my shoulders drooping with relief when he moves away from me.

"You don't ever serve the underground patrons, do you?"

My heart fluttered at the question. Never. I'd refused multiple times.

"I prefer to stay on the first floor."

"I'd like you to think about it. In fact, I'll even throw in an incentive."

An envelope was placed on the tray, hitting it with a heavy slap. I didn't have to open it to know that there was money inside. My mind went to all the possibilities of what I could do with the money. He was a heavy tipper and the size of the envelope was thicker than the ones I was handed prior. I came to my senses seconds later.

"I can't accept this."

"You can and you will. I'm asking you to think about it. My personal server and companion while I'm partaking in the underground's menu. You would make me a lucky man."

Before the word no passed through my lips, Mr. Pierce held up a finger for silence.

"I don't want your answer now. Think about it. Weigh your options. I think you'll make the right decision. I certainly wouldn't want your talent to go to waste." He looked at his watch, shaking his head. "Time's almost up for you, isn't it? Go clock out. I'm sure we'll meet again soon."

By the time I had closed the door behind me, I stormed down the hall, patrons making their way out of the club without even a glance in my direction. Too drunk and blissed out to notice I was weaving through them before I made it into the kitchen and tossed the envelope onto a counter, dumping the glasses into the heavy duty sink. Cleansing breaths were my saving grace, re-centering me.

"Rough night for you too, huh?"

I let out a squeak of surprise at Kimber's question.

It looks like we’ve traded places, her hair slicked back into a ponytail, eyes bright and concerned. Her eyes go to the envelope, picking up and waving it in the air.

“There must be at least a few hundred dollars in here. Maybe more. I’m guessing the money is from your generous man in Suite Two?”

“I told him I couldn’t take it. Something about being his companion on the lower floor.”

Kimber blanches at my words, shaking her head rapidly as her hair swings out from behind her.

“Absolutely not. It’s not worth it. Trust me. I’ve seen things that you wouldn’t believe. Take the money and tell Wendy to shove her client list up her ass.” It’s a whispered threat, said only for me to hear and we both laugh, breaking the tension from the unpleasantness from earlier.

She snatched my tray from me, placing it on top of hers before she yanked me into a hug. It’s nights like tonight that make me want to throw in the towel and quit but oddly enough, her embrace makes me feel better. It’s nice to know I’m not alone.

“You’re tense,” Kimber informs me, her fingers pressing into my shoulders. “You need to work out some of the stress. There’s a twenty-four hour gym a few blocks away. I heard it’s pretty clean. You should check it out sometime. Judging by these knots in your back, sooner rather than later.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another sleepless night for Steve means a trip to the gym where a new patron catches his attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

Two nights later, Steve is unwrapping the tape from his hands rapidly when he hears a soft gasp. The sound is to the left of him, quiet but pained. His sensitive hearing picks up on the slightest sounds - a result of his perfect genetic engineering.

It’s a woman, clad in a pair of workout pants and a long black t-shirt that hangs loose on her frame. Her ponytail swings almost in time with the punching bag in front of her. Women usually don’t frequent the gym this late at night and he’s well aware of the stares that she is receiving as her back is turned, her head bowed as she inspects her hand. There’s something that seems familiar about this figure that ignites a curiosity in Steve. The injured hand shakes thrice before it curls back into a fist and punches the heavy bag, resulting in the same gasp of pain and a swear word is muttered before her head lifts, her side profile catching his attention.

She’s aware of the men watching her, doe brown eyes under thick black lashes narrowing at the ones who continue to stare even as she looks them in the eye. It’s pure inquisitiveness, the way they watch her. In defiance - or to show she’s tougher than they think - she balls up her left fist and punches hard, a small thud echoing from the impact. Her full lips twitch into a frown. He’s finished unwrapping his hands, placing the tape back into his bag. This is his cue to step in, remind those that are still gawking to keep moving.

Another punch lands and an additional swear tumbles from her mouth, her hand shaking away the sting. Frustration is marked on her features, her cheeks dewy with perspiration as her teeth crush down on her lower lip. It’s an image that Steve observes quietly before he approaches, clearing his throat before he gets too close. She’s nervous enough as it is with the stares and he doesn’t want to make the situation worse, even if he is there to assist.

Steve is always ready to help. It’s been ingrained in his DNA before the serum, a throwback to his mother. Public service has always been his brand.

“Everything okay?”

He’s face to face with the stranger who had ran into him a week prior, the same wide brown eyes as before. Deep scratches dot the tops of her hands from the thick pieces of duct tape that she’s come into contact with, raised and reddish with a few drops of blood. The onlookers have fled, save for one lone man, the usual treadmill walker with the oversized headphones who pays them no attention. It’s obvious she remembers him, Steve knows this by the way her eyes lower to the ground at the sight of him.

“Just a few scratches,” she sighs. Her voice is like honey to his ears.

“Mind if I see?”

It’s a simple request, innocent enough as he holds up a stick of balm in his hand - a peace offering. A look of distrust flashes across her pretty features before she places her hand in his, warm and soft, light as a feather in his open palm. His eyes roam over her creamy skin, the ridges of her knuckles scuffed from the way she held her fists to the punching bag. When Steve turns her hand over, his eyes roam over the highway of her veins that are faint under her skin. For a moment, Steve imagines how her wrist would look bonded together, the imagery he’s been so good at hiding flooding his mind like a tidal wave.

He’s been right so far - she’s as soft as he knew she would be - pliant and quiet while he examines her open palm. He can’t get the thought out of his head. Binding her wrists crisscrossed, her perfectly manicured fingers stretching to grab onto something, anything before -

“Not too bad,” he remarks.

Steve pops the cap on the balm. The sound grounds him back to reality, more of his own sense of peace than hers. He’s aware of where his thoughts were going, full speed ahead into territory that continues to keep him up at random hours of the night.

“It’ll help the sting from your scratches,” Steve informs her, turning her hand palm down into his own, her fingers instinctively gripping his hand before she realizes what she’s done, her tongue quickly wetting her lower lip while she watches him glide the balm over her hand as she relaxes her grip. The antiseptic is strong and she sucks in a breath at the sting. It’s a visceral reaction from him to protect and he brings her hand up slowly, blowing slowly on her wounded hand.

At the sensation, her eyelids go half mast, almost as if in a trance for a moment. Relief from the bruised knuckles and scuffed up fingers make her almost lean into him, close enough that he can smell the faint scent of her shampoo.

“Better? I know it stings, it’s pretty strong stuff.”

“It is.”

She seems to marvel at the power of the balm, a creation Banner created that can’t be found anywhere on the market. She moves her fingers, stretching them out and closing them into a fist before she offers up her other hand. He doesn’t even have to ask. Steve knows it is most likely because of who he is rather than who he wants to be. In his imagination, both can be interchangeable and he glides the balm over her other hand, watching the slight movement of her eyelids as she tries to keep still. He blows over the knuckles slowly before he lets her hand go, almost longingly if he would be able to admit that to himself.

“Thank you,” she responds, flexing her hand out and splaying her fingers. “Feels better.”

“You know, most people wear boxing gloves. Especially when they are beginners.”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise at his comment, her gaze going back to the bag sheepishly.

“Am I that obvious?”

Steve gives her a quick smile before he nods to the wooden box a few feet away. He doesn’t point out the words painted on the crate.

“They’ve got gloves in there if you need them.”

“Ah. Well. Now I know. Thank you.”

Her face scrunches up with embarrassment and she takes a step over to the box, seemingly determined to finish her exercise. Steve will only get one chance to offer, one question to ask before he regrets it.

“Do you want to try tape?”

“Tape?” Her voice is tinged with interest and Steve swallows hard, pushing back the imagery once again.

“Athletic tape. Good for your hands, protects your fingers. I have extra if you want it. You’re welcome to it.”

“Sure.”

Steve tries to maintain his composure, knowing that it’s a simple task and that he shouldn’t be trying to get a sense of what it would feel like to bind her hands. Dreaming is one thing, acting on it is another. His hand dives down into his bag, pulling out out a roll of tape, thinking to mundane things he’s yet to complete. A rescheduled dinner with Sam and an upcoming briefing with Fury. Laundry. Grocery shopping. The imagery fades with every task he can think of.

When he hands her the tape, Steve realizes too late that she’s never done this before, watching her wrap it around her palm and fingers until it begins to resemble a baseball glove.

His tongue rolls around in his mouth while she lifts her eyes to his in a muted plea, knowing what she’s done is incorrect. It’s a sliver of helplessness that ignites the need to course correct.

To train.

“It’s uh, here, let me show you.”

Once he’s unwrapped the tape from her hand, he stands close to her, her hand outstretched to him. This is as close to an invite as Steve believes he will get and he focuses on teaching her rather than distract himself with the thoughts that hover over him like a cloud.

“Tape between the knuckles,” he begins, his fingers weaving between hers while she studies the material that drapes over her hand. “Don’t wrap your palm and keep your thumbs safe.”

Steve has done this countless of times, weaving the tape through his own hands without much thought. Now, he takes his time, watching her open her fingers up to allow him to wrap it around. He hesitates when he gets to wrapping her wrist. He wraps it with enough cushion to keep it from spraining, the material a far cry from the cuffs that are currently inside his dresser.

He finishes, her eyes glancing at her hands and back to him. There’s a dimple in her cheek when she smiles in gratitude, as quick as a wink that disappears before her attention is focused back on the punching bag. It’s the same one from a few days ago - Steve recognizes the various colors of duct tape that have started to build on the deep cracks.

Small talk has never been his strong suit. Tony has reminded him of this multiple times. She’s eager to get to her routine and Steve watches her flex her fingers into a fist and punch, his arms crossing over his chest. Each thrust of her arm reminds him of when Fury visited him in the same place, focused and unaware that someone was watching until he’d interrupted.

Steve knows he should walk away, put distance between them and go home. He’s quick enough to catch a glance of her watching him as he turns, the iron will and resolve he’s known for weakening with every step he takes. The figure he dreamed about never had a face, only hints of the feminine form underneath him.

He now knows what she looks like.

It isn’t a shock to anyone that he isn’t good with talking when it comes to women. This is no exception, Steve walking away to decompress, his hands slightly trembling before he keeps them busy with tossing his towel inside and zipping up his bag.

The sound of her jabs have stopped and it’s silent.

It’s just the two of them now.

He doesn’t turn around. At least not yet.

“Mr. Rogers?”

It’s polite, proper even but Steve still hasn’t gotten used to it, even decades later.

“Steve,” he corrects her, turning on his heel to watch her nod in understanding. Her taped hands are at her sides, fingers moving back and forth. Her chest moves rapidly up and down, her heartbeat trying to regulate from the exertion. There’s a vulnerable look in her eyes that Steve can’t ignore, as if she already knows the answer to the question she is prepared to ask.

“Do you think you could show me how to train correctly? If you’re here, I mean.”

He’s here more than he cares to admit.

Especially now.

“What’s your schedule like?”

He can’t promise he’ll be around, not with the nature of who he is and his job. It’s been oddly quiet for the most part, enough for Tony to continue his tinkering on his projects and Natasha’s weird missions that keep her away for weeks at a time. Mostly on Fury’s order but Steve is now content in the meantime if it means he can take up a new hobby.

That’s what he calls it for now.

“Graveyard.”

“You sure you want to be out this late after work?”

“Where I work...” she trails off with a short drop of her shoulders in defeat. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. You’re a busy man, I’m sure.”

He’s quick to reply, making sure she’s aware that he’s not brushing her off. It’s quite the opposite, as far as he’s concerned.

“I’d like to,” he responds, his words hanging in the air with a double meaning before he clarifies. “I’m usually here around two or three most nights. I’d give you a schedule but my job’s a little fluid these days.”

“Totally understandable. So, I guess I’ll see you around then.”

She offers her taped wrapped hand and he shakes it, his thumb brushing against her pressure point.

Steve could swear that her pulse quickened before he pulls away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve returns from a mission to his first training session, only to find things are not what they seem once they begin and a decision has to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

Work is relatively slow tonight, a bachelor party that teams me and Georgette, a more tenured server, inside a suite. She’s a regular at the underground, which I’ve since learned has a name – Ignis, as Georgette admonishes me. She's friendly but I can tell by the way she looks at me that she’s sizing me up, her gaze lingering a little longer than normal while we refill the trays in the kitchen.

This is our third trip back within two hours and I’m trying not to be distracted by the scratches on my knuckles that are healing. They don’t hurt anymore but every single time I look at them, I’m reminded of how close his mouth was to my skin, the cool air rushing out between his lips to ease the sting of the balm he’d supplied over my wounds. It wasn’t just any mouth – it was Steve Rogers – the same man whose face was blanketed on the news media anytime the world needed saving or he was doing something for charity. Which seemed to be all the time.

I hadn’t forgotten how I’d run into him that afternoon, the look on his face when I realized what was in the bag, mortified that I hadn’t watched where I was going, let alone entertaining the fact that he probably had someone that he was taking that particular item home to. Everyone had their own tastes, I never judged, especially from where I was currently standing but I hadn’t expected him of all people to be into that sort of thing.

People, I’d learned, had a way of surprising me.

Georgette eyes me once more as she pours everclear from a bottle into two shot glasses and slides one over to me.

Maybe she is allowed to break the rules but I’m not. Wendy has made it clear over and over that we don’t take drinks from patrons or from the shelves. Georgette flips her strawberry blond hair over her shoulder, huffing so loud that her bangs lift and float back down onto her forehead when I slide it back to her.

“What’s the big deal? It’s just a shot.”

“A shot for you and a write up for me.”

Georgette barks out a laugh, sarcastic and at my expense. I know she thinks I’m kidding but I’ve seen people get written up for less.

“You think little old Wendy is going to find out? What, are you afraid of her?”

Before I answer, she throws back a shot, slamming it back down on the counter. Her eyes go back and forth from me to the glass that is in between us.

“Kimber said you wouldn’t do it. You know, you’re never going to work at Ignis if you don’t take risks.”

That was enough for me to know I wasn’t going to even think about taking it.

“I don’t want it anyway.”

Georgette scoffs, taking the shot glass and downing it before she places it in the sink. She swivels back around to me, a suspicious look on her face.

“Why not? What did Kimber tell you?”

“Nothing. I see the clientele that goes down there. Not really my crowd.”

“Hmm.” Georgette pulls up her sleeves, her wrists adorned with bracelets that sparkle under the harsh overhead lights. “Cartier. A matching set from one of my regulars. I got these pieces two months after I started down there.”

“I don’t really do jewelry. Not my thing.” I picked up my tray, ready to conclude the posturing of this conversation and to get this shift over with.

“You don’t think you have a choice, do you? I’ve seen the way Mr. Pierce looks at you. When he comes to Ignis, he doesn’t even ask for any of us. Wendy knows it. It’s only a matter of time before you get trained there.”

“She won’t. We already talked about it.”

I push open the door with the tip of my heel, Georgette following behind me, intent on still keeping up on this subject as she lowers her voice while we pass a couple and their entourage. Another senator or maybe a diplomat. I can’t tell these days.

“Until he threatens to take his business elsewhere. Wendy may have a soft spot for you but she likes her money more. Pierce is a powerful man. If you don’t want that type lavishing attention on you then maybe you should rethink where you work before your mind gets made up for you.”

Georgette enters first, among a loud roar of appreciation from the group that is well on their way to getting inebriated. The rules still apply even if Georgette doesn’t believe so, a hand sliding up the back of her thigh while she sets the tray on the table, giving a coquettish glance to the men sitting on the sofa.

The epitome of what Kimber loathes, rich and pretentious with the folded hundred dollar bills between their fingers that they wave to get our attention. I can’t unload my tray fast enough, glass to the napkin in two neat rows. I pick up the tray just in time to hear Georgette call out to me amid the raucous talking and laughter.

A wave of uneasiness hits me when I turn around, a tall man towering over Georgette and myself, his arm wrapped around her waist.

“Mr. Rollins, this is –“

“I’ve seen you around,” the man interrupts, extending his hand out to me. He’s intimidating but most of them are. When I allow my hand to his, his fingers latch under mine, his lips brushing against the top of my hand. His hand is cold, not warm like Steve’s and I start to find myself comparing the two.

I shouldn’t. I don’t know what Steve’s mouth feels like.

“Mr. Rollins is an associate of Mr. Pierce’s,” Georgette declares with a curious lift of her eyebrow.

“Ah.”

Rollins is handsome in a rugged way but not my type. The scar on his face already makes him look dangerous than I’m sure he already is. If he’s an associate to Pierce then I have a feeling I wasn’t selected randomly to help with Georgette.

The music from the speakers gets louder as one of the partygoers turns DJ and I see it, the look of irritation in Rollins’ face that means there is no room for interpretation when he signals to another man across from the phone. A door slams shut behind us and he smiles, cold and showy.

“Excuse my nephew, he lacks manners once alcohol gets into his system. Georgette says you won’t be staying past one. I can’t offer you anything to stay a little later, can I?”

Even if I wanted to – which I don’t – I’ve been looking forward to my gym nights. I’ve learned how to wrap my hands correctly from Steve Rogers himself while he patiently explained the need to protect my fingers from breaking and avoiding wrist fractures. I have a lot of aggression I want to punch out. This little bachelor party isn’t helping.

I already know it’s going to be more money, probably stuffed into another envelope and handed over to me. I haven’t forgotten what Pierce told me. The bracelets on Georgette’s wrists sparkle in the low light. Once again, a streak of jealousy sparks through me at the thought as I look at my own bare ones.

Still not worth it, not if it means Pierce would be allowed to continue giving those long looks that make me uncomfortable. I don’t want to think about what I’d have to do to get such a gift.

If that is what you could call it.

“I’ve got an early start tomorrow,” I lie, holding up my tray like a shield before Rollins gives me a tilt of his head.

“Some other time again. It’s been a pleasure seeing you. I’ll make sure to tell Mr. Pierce how attentive you were to our needs.”

I put enough distance between myself and Georgette and Rollins, whose hand wraps around the back of her neck, almost in a hold if I didn’t know any better. I’ll collect my tip tomorrow when I come back to work but for now, I just want to get away to somewhere other than here.

It’s quiet when I slide the keycard through the slot, the smell of disinfectant and rubber meeting me when I finally get inside. I’m expecting more than the usual man on the treadmill with the giant headphones, who is there deep into the groove of his music, shoes stomping hard with every step making the machine shake.

I change quickly, straight into the new athletic wear I just bought. They are comfortable and made to move around in, even if it did cost a little more than I wanted. I still haven’t touched Pierce’s additional money. I plan on giving it back the next time I see him. While I wrap my hands with the tape, Steve’s words echoing in my ears while I tape between my knuckles, examining my work before I head back outside.

He’s waiting for me, holding two big cushioned pads in one hand while he looks to my hands. I think he’s impressed but I can’t tell, not with how he’s studying me. I’m trying hard to ignore the fact that it’s obvious he worked out before I came in, sweat glistening on his brow.

“Everything okay?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as he hesitates.

“Yes.” I don’t want to tell him I need to punch something and I want to do it now. “What are those?”

“These,” he answers, slipping them on each hand. “Are punching pads. Softer than the bags and it’s better impact.”

Makes sense. While the marks have begun to heal, the burning and stinging of the scuffing of my hands still is a fresh memory. Still, while I’m watching him hold the pads up, I foresee one minor issue.

“What if I accidentally hit you?”

The question makes him laugh, the sleeves of his white t-shirt stretching slightly while he holds up the pads.

“I think I’ll be able to handle it,” he promises. “Ready?”

I was more than ready. I'd imagine Pierce's head on the pads.

🕯

Sometimes Steve needed to be alone. This mission was cut and dry but he found himself becoming distracted, even when they had the upper hand. Natasha flew the jet back, Steve's head in his hands while he sits in the dark, cowl between his legs. There's a traitor in S.H.I.E.L.D., he's sure of it and even though Natasha chalks it up to his paranoia, Steve can't shake the feeling to not let his guard down. They'll get answers once they get back to headquarters. Until then, his thoughts intertwine with the debrief he'll be expected to prepare and the fact that he knows the only thing that will make him stop picking at the details of said mission will be to stop ignoring the fact that he's been counting down the days until he could see her again.

Even here, in this dark space, he's wondering if she's taping her hands the way he taught her. If she's still using the same punching bag and if he needs to soothe her scratches once more. Deep down, Steve knows that it's more than that, this being helpful that he likes to weave as a narrative. He likes that she came to him for help, how her eyes could elicit a reaction so strong that he would probably would have walked over hot coals just because she asked him to.

The news of a potential traitor has made Natasha quiet, her mouth moving back and forth with words she wants to say, opinions that Steve knows he'd entertain but even she can't find the energy to lie to herself. Usually they'd regroup, congregate and create some sort of after action.

Steve could get away with saying that he wanted to be alone.

Even if he wasn't planning to be.

He'd changed immediately after he'd gotten to his room, not stopping to shower, tossing his clothes and keys into his bag before he hopped onto his motorcycle. He knew Natasha would give him the space and Tony wouldn't pry. Each of them in their own heads. Distance would be good for the moment.

Steve could concentrate on teaching his eager pupil the right way to throw a punch.

As it turns out, she didn't need much help. He's impressed with how she listens to his count, punches landing on the pads before they begin again. Steve's good at knowing expressions and the minute she had poked her head out of the locker room, he knew something was wrong. It wasn't his place to pry but her taped hands were gripped into fists. She was ready to fight, eyes determined but her lips pursed into a frown. He's proud of her work, knows that her wrists are protected and that she's taped between her knuckles. So much for needing the extra tape that is in his pocket.

He places the pads closer to his own chest and he watches her blink, her hands falling at her sides before a look of trepidation flickers over her features and her lungs fill with her air. The first punch lands in the center of the pad, surprisingly harder than the first few rounds they've had. He's counting slowly, her teeth gnashing over her lip while her arms stretch and pull back with every number. He can see it in her eyes, even if she doesn't. There's fear, like a caged animal, the way her chest rises and falls rapidly with each blow.

Steve stops counting.

The blows keep coming.

And coming.

Her ponytail swings wildly, her teeth baring while she hits harder and Steve hears a soft grunt from inside her lungs while she punches quicker. She's losing control, her eyes still determined and focused and Steve sees it - the first brim of tears on her lashes and the tremble of her lips. Something has happened - Steve knows this much - and she's spiraling.

"Stop," Steve commands, more for her benefit than his.

She cracks out a cry of denial, her breath shattering with every blow to the pad. Sweat glitters on her cheeks and chin but Steve isn't sure if it's from the pure exertion or a mixture of her tears. Her fists are shaky with the next few blows.

The pads fall to the ground. He doesn't have much time, dodging her final swing before he captures her hands behind her back in one fluid motion. At his touch, her eyes shut, her long eyelashes wet with tears as she tries to fight him. She's no match for him, he knows that she knows this as a fact as she gasps for breath and a gurgle of emotion bubbles in her throat.

The tape he produces from his pocket wraps around her wrists rapidly, up and down and around until she's bound tightly, arms behind her back. Steve's arms hold her down, her heart beating wildly against his own, his hands over hers.

"Breathe," he instructs. "I've got you."

Her breath shakes with every shallow inhale, her head shaking back and forth against his chest.

"Breathe deeper," Steve repeats, in a tone he'd usually save for mission, his voice leaving no room for an argument. "Center yourself."

He doesn't know how long he's been holding her, nor does he care. Steve would stay here forever.

But she listens. He hears her inhale deeper, her chest expanding with every cleansing breath.

The trembling body in his arms stills and he doesn't trust himself to look down at her. So he looks at the old and worn posters on the walls, the cracks in the concrete and the fallen punching pads that lay a few feet away from them.

"Good," Steve praises. "Much better."

"Thank you." Her voice is soft and quiet.

When he finally gets the courage to look down, she's looking up at him, eyes shimmering with tears. Her bottom lip is slick with tears and she tilts her chin up. It's an open invitation and Steve answers it without question, dipping his head down to taste the salt - to taste her - and he understands this is what he has been missing. It's soft, the way his mouth moves over hers, giving her a chance to not get overwhelmed before he hears a soft whine in her throat.

"Are you okay? I can unwrap you." He says the words, knows he'll do it if she says the word. At least he know he's helped her.

He's rewarded with a shake of her head, her head still laying on his chest, her eyes closed tight.

"Not yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been pumping these chapters out like crazy but I may pause for a bit and allow some attention to my other fics.
> 
> These comments have been overwhelming in the best way possible, I love reading them and thank you for taking the time to write them.
> 
> Happy Halloween! 👻


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve embarks on an internal battle after the gym incident, while her unwelcome suitor tests her limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

The sun was a faint presence in the sky when she slipped out of the door, a little before six by his calculations, her presence hovering over him before she departed. He’d kept the door unlocked the entire night in case she woke up and wanted a quick exit. Steve had kept watch on his couch, stretched out and letting sleep evade him, watching the shadows on the ceiling. He deliberately stacked his hands under his head to distract from the unavoidable evidence of the physical reaction that keeps him hard for hours. The mental flagellation is worth it when he replays the way her head leaned into his chest, lips parted as her warm breath exhaled, almost in tune with the beat of his heart.

Steve had known power. He’d had it wielded against him when he was still small and when he’d grown to this size he was still trying to come to terms with the change. His power is always used for defense - for preservation of life and the destruction of anything that threatens to harm that ideal - and the thought of how quickly he taped her wrists blooms over his eyes. Muscle memory from thoughts that had long become practice without needing physical repetition.

A testament to how long he’s been thinking about what manifested hours prior.

Years of his leather gloves and holding the shield that has become like an extension of himself has left him with calloused fingers, resistant to the cold and heat. But he can remember how soft her skin was, a luxury in his hands while her fingers circled his own that kept her still against him. He's used to control, restraining an enemy to subdue and eventually discard. But there was never any intention of leaving her. Quite the opposite, if this was something she would ever allow.

If he stays completely still, he can still hear her denial when he'd offered to remove the tape from her wrists. Moments later, she'd fainted, Steve catching her slumping against him and cradling her in his arms. There was no place to go other than the one he knew that would be safe and as he placed her in his bed, it occurred to him while he pulls the blankets over her form that that this is new territory, someone taking up residence in his bed that isn’t him. The king size bed a far cry from the twin that used to be pushed up against the window. Steve has mentally been preparing for this, even if his consciousness reasons that it’s indulgent and he deserves to stretch out while he sleeps.

Steve hasn’t a good night’s sleep in years.

Her eyes had fluttered open when he removed the tape, a reaction to her wrists being freed. He remembers the _shh_ that swept from his lips, still unsure if it was meant to soothe her or himself. The body that he fantasized about was there, warm and soft and if he had allowed himself to linger, then he would have seen her mouth working the words to ask him to stay. He would like to win, outside of his job and who he is at the core of himself. What that entails has shifted since he had laid eyes on her.

Steve is also used to rejection. Though he is much bigger - _stronger_ \- the feelings of never being enough still hide in the shadows and are not as easy to forget. The Steve that was always picked over, pushed to the ground and beat up, that one still lurks somewhere inside him. He knows right and wrong, he’s been on the receiving end of bullies probably more than anyone he knows, or used to know. This is where he reasons the need for control and dominance, though he knows his want is for a person to let him dip into the part of himself that he continues to hide away from the rest of the team.

When her supple mouth turns upward in a hint of a smile - possibly contentment - before she settles against the pillow, he believes he’s found it.

He finally gets to his dresser, sliding the drawer open to peer inside at the handcuffs and the clamps, he lifts the cuffs in his hands, feeling the weight of them in his hands. When he’s finally rewarded with placing them on her, he thinks of how the contrast of the cuffs will be on her beautiful skin, restrained but separated by a few links of the chain. His thoughts delve into how he can see the chain going taunt while she tests her limits of the strength of the cuffs and he drops them back into the drawer, slamming it closed.

The heat from the shower fogs up the mirrors, swirling around the bathroom with the soft hush of the fan above. Steve’s head rests against the cool stone while the water travels down his back, down the ropes of muscle that contract with every movement as his hand grips his dick, fingers applying pressure in a way that works for the moment but he knows it does not compare to how she would feel. Her name that she’d whispered to him the day he’d soothed her wounds, now a mantra in tune with the shape of her face and her lips, envisioning her eyes locked onto his until the breath crushes from his chest and he comes, teeth gritting while he slams his hand against the wall, spend circling the drain before it disappears.

🕯

Kimber is scrolling through her phone, which is immediately discarded on the counter once she sees me.

“I was waiting for you. Has Wendy seen you yet?”

My good mood dissipates at her question, her green eyes searching my face for her answer.

“No?”

“Shit.”

My fight or flight kicks in and I take a deep breath, hoping for good news instead of what I already know is something bad. Kimber nibbles on her lips, a beat before she begins to pace.

“You’ve been taken off the schedule.”

“What?”

A myriad of possibilities could be the reason. Being let go is my first thought. I hadn’t been here as long as some of the others and the rationalizing makes sense. I’d been editing my resume for over a month. I knew I wouldn’t be doing this forever. Still, it’s sudden and I force myself back to reality, waiting for Kimber to continue.

“I think you’re moving up. Ran into that size queen, my ol buddy, G. She said you impressed Rollins.”

Kimber is at my side at an instant, though the arms that are holding me aren’t the sinewy ones that had carried me to bed. They’re smaller but still important to keep me grounded.

“Rollins knows Pierce.”

“Fuck.” The word is hissed through Kimber’s lips before she shakes her head. “Just tell Wendy no. She’s a hardass but you know she looks out for you.”

Georgette’s words come back to me, ripping away any silver lining I had left.

_Wendy may have a soft spot for you but she likes her money more._

I could leave right now. Turn around, grab my coat and walk back home and debate calling the number that I’ve stared at on my cell since I made it back to my apartment. Letting myself think of what transpired the night prior is out of the question, at least here. I can’t allow myself to go there.

I'm wondering if I’m going to get that feeling again, the sensation of feeling grounded and at peace. I’d never let that happen before, seeing red and Pierce’s face in the pads that Steve had held up until I only saw my hands making contact with Pierce’s jaw and the sound it would make. Then I didn’t want to stop.

Until he made me.

I could hear his heartbeat under my chin, the pressure of his arms keeping me close and I knew I was safe. No leers in my direction, no silent propositions or fear.

Only a strong body, kind eyes and a heart that beat with as much fervor as my own. Like he _knew_ what I needed.

“You okay over there?” Kimber waves her hand in my face and I nod, hearing the turn of the doorknob. Back to reality, even if it’s not as kind as the dreams that occurred once I got back inside my own bed.

The smile Wendy gives me is almost sympathetic and Kimber hovers until Wendy clears her throat - a signal this conversation is just between us.

“Talk to you later.” Kimber’s farewell is a thin veiled request for me to fill her in once the conversation is over.

Once Kimber is gone and it’s quiet, Wendy adjusts her glasses and nods with approval.

“I’m sure Kimber already filled you in.”

“She hasn’t. Just that I’m off the schedule.” I’m coping an attitude but I don’t care at the moment. My livelihood is at stake and Wendy has always been hard to read.

“You’re off the schedule because you’re being moved to Mr. Pierce’s personal server. Mr. Rollins gave you an excellent review. Imagine my surprise when I realized they were associates.”

“We talked about this before, Wendy. I don’t want to be like Kimber.”

“Relax. You’re going to be a very busy girl. Ignis not withstanding, Mr. Pierce and his associates are frequent patrons. You won’t have time to be on the schedule, let alone trained downstairs. In fact, he’s waiting for you now. Don’t leave him waiting.”

The door opens after the first rap of my knuckles, Pierce standing back to give me room, a change from the last time I was here. Classical music plays through the speaker and I try to ignore the sound of the door closing while I place the tray on the counter.

“Have you given any thought to my offer?”

“It appears my mind was made up for me.” I don’t mean for it to come off harsh but everything about this place reminds me that I don’t want to be here.

“Only temporarily. Mr. Rollins tastes are a little more colorful than mine but I had to make sure you were as consistent as you are with me. Still obedient. I’m pleased to hear that.”

He took a napkin from the tray and grabbed a glass.

“You never look at me when I’m speaking to you. Is that a trait you learned here or at home?”

I stared at the marble countertop, watching the condensation materialize on the glasses.

“Home.”

“Strict parents. Maybe a strict father, if he was in the home?”

I knew what he was implying. The weight of it made me bite my tongue.

“Is there anything else, Mr. Pierce?”

“Your student loans. It’s a high amount, isn’t it? The interest is through the roof. You won’t be finished paying for it quite a while.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t.” The glass is set down on the other side of me, enough to get a whiff of his cologne. “You’re struggling. You pay your rent, your bills and that leaves you such a small amount left you can’t even pay for a proper coat for the cold. I could see to your comforts and all I’m asking is for your time. My job is stressful beyond belief and I’d like to share those few hours in between with someone who can make me forget that I’m, well, me.”

He reached for another drink, taking a small sip and holding it in his hand.

“Maybe you need some persuasion.”

I felt him leave me as he sunk down onto the sofa, drink still in hand.

“Hands on the counter, if you please.”

“What?” I couldn’t help but glare at his direction, his arm draped around the back of the sofa while he tilted the glass toward me.

“I’m not here for that.”

His tongue slid over his lips while he nodded.

“Perhaps not. But I do pay by the hour and you’re here for at least three more. I’m sure I can talk to Wendy about changing your hours. Shortening them, perhaps.”

“Fine.”

“Ah, there is another matter I wanted to discuss with you. Mr. Pierce is what I go by but with the amount of money I pour into this place, I’d prefer a more proper term. I believe Georgette calls Mr. Rollins Sir. I like for you to address me that way going forward.”

“Fine. _Sir_ ,” I answered, placing my hands on the counter. He’d found a loophole. He wasn’t able to touch me but I still shivered as I felt his gaze.

My bruises have healed the more I focus on them, hearing the ice cubes clink ever so often behind me as Pierce sits quietly. Even with my hands splayed out in front of me, I can still remember the tape being wrapped rapidly around them. I chose to focus on that image rather than the fact I know Pierce’s eyes are filtering from the top of my head to the bottom of my heels.

When I shut my eyes, I think of Steve in this room instead of Pierce. I’m probably moving too fast thinking the way I do but I don’t care. My mind has always been my refuge and I willingly retreat back to waking up in his bed and how I realized that it was just me inside that giant space. I’d lost my nerve to stay in that space, where I was warm and protected, to slip on my shoes and head back to the world that is familiar for me, rather than one that is parallel to my dreams.

It was surprising that he had kept his door unlocked, even if he was right on the couch asleep when I had reached for the doorknob, hoping that the lock being slid over would not wake him. The image of him asleep is what I held onto when my head hit the pillow once I got home.

“You’re free to go.”

My eyes snap open and the time on my watch informs me that I’ve standing for over an hour and half. My legs feel numb I finally move, stumbling slightly as Pierce gives me a small smile and wink.

“Exquisite _and_ obedient. I’ll see you soon. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

Once I’m halfway down the street and onto a familiar street, I realize I left my coat at work.

🕯

Steve pulls the shirt down over his head when he first hears the knock at the door. He doesn’t want to be distracted tonight. He’d done enough of that earlier to warrant a slick joke from Clint that stuck around longer than it needed to.

He can stay busy tonight, research the traitor that he’s sure will mess up and expose themselves eventually. Even if he wants to examine the cuffs that have been calling to him since he got out of the shower earlier in the day.

When he opens the door, she’s standing there shivering, still in what he thinks is her work uniform, her arm slung across her chest and clutching the other. There’s that same look in her eyes, the silent plea for help that makes him swing the door open as he opens his arms to let her crash against him.

Her skin is cold to the touch and for a moment, goosebumps prickle on his skin as if he’s become an extension of her. The door closes shut with the tip of his shoe, arms wrapping around her to keep her close to him. He reasons it’s for warmth but Steve likes the way she fits underneath him.

The breath catching in her throat and the shake of her head alerts him to look down, her fingers grasping at the buttons on her shirt.

“Help me,” she murmurs in a half cry, tears pooling in her eyes before she gives a tug of the shirt and a button pops, clattering softly to the hardwood floor as the shirt sits on the top of her shoulders.

At the words, he’s ready to protect, collecting her wrists in one hand while he eyes her, his patience razor thin.

“Who is it?” He can’t understand why he thinks it’s _someone_ and not _something_ but he just knows.

And at this, when she lets out a sob that strangles his heart, he knows he’ll seek out whoever it is and extinguish the threat.

The shirt falls to the floor in a soft hush and Steve doesn’t look away, even if he knows he probably should. He’s greeted by a satin black bra, a small pink ribbon nestled in the middle, the swell of her breasts straining against the fabric with every rapid breath she takes. Steve imagines what it would be like to have them in his hands. He knows he could if he asks - _or tells_ \- but his mouth goes dry with the sight of her in front of him.

This is what he’s been waiting for, even if he hesitates for the moment, watching her curl her fingers into fists in his hand. Blood thrums through his ears before his free hand sweeps up the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair softly, the pads of his skin on her scalp before he gathers a handful of her hair and twists, pulling her mouth up towards his. The sigh that escapes from her parted lips is the approval he needs to continue, his mouth covering hers in a slow dance of his tongue sliding against hers. When he pulls away, her lips are red and slick, temporarily marked in a way he didn’t know was possible.

His tongue works inside his mouth while he forms the words that are jumbled inside his mind. What he wants is within reach - in his arms - and he’s still trying to wrap his head around her being real. The words rise to the surface on the tip of his tongue, curiosity outweighing his politeness.

“Skirt.”

Her eyes raise up to his own and he sees her swallow. With the dip of her head in a nod, he releases her hands to see her unzip the side, the skirt falling to the floor as she continues to look at him, pupils blown wide.

Finally he remembers to breathe, he admires of the curves of her hips, the black garter belt that frames her waist, matching black satin underwear and the black thigh high stockings that have plagued his dreams since the first time he saw her. Better than he imagined and much richer in the flesh.

When he backs away, she reaches out for him, hand outstretched quickly before he lowers himself to the couch, thighs spread slightly apart. He’s hard as a rock, his cock straining against his pants. This, he can ignore for the meantime - his focus and attention are solely on her - and he taps his palm on his thigh twice softly.

Steve focuses on the sway of her hips, the way the heels seem to lengthen her calves before she lowers herself on him. It’s not her full weight - Steve knows this - and his hands steadily apply enough pressure until the tips of her heels touch the floor. His heart slams in his chest while holds out his hands.

Her breath rushes out of her chest at the hold he applies on her wrists. Steve is aware of the heat radiating between her legs, propping his foot up so that she straddles his thigh, her back straight as a lance.

He can feel the slight roll of her hips before his stare hardens. At the change in his expression, she stops, fingers gripping the insides of her palms.

“I didn’t say stop.”

It comes out harsher than he intended it to, an apology already in the works before she rocks her hips against him, eyes closing slowly as her throat bobs softly, a sight Steve can see as her head falls back. He’s been given a gift, he’s sure of it now, her teeth pressing into her lips while she stifles back a moan.

“Good.” Steve isn’t sure how to praise her. He knows she’s close, the evidence darkening his pants as she breathes deeper. “Faster.”

If he could get drunk, he imagines this is what it would feel like, swimming in absolute bliss. She grounds herself on him, Steve’s lungs flattening at the sight as a tear runs down her cheek.

He leans up, her skin warm to the touch as he kisses up the column of her throat. The sensation overwhelms her, her thighs shaking against his own. His fingers still wrapped around her wrists, moving slightly as she rocks her hips with more intensity.

“It’s okay.” It’s a promise that holds more power than they both realize. “Let go.”

While he was content to watch, to see how far he’d allow himself to go, he was not prepared for the way she came apart, his name like a prayer on her lips. His mouth is dry, his eyes still in shock at the way she sinks down on him, perspiration dotting her forehead and in between the valley of her breasts while she tries to catch her breath.

Her eyes are still closed and Steve wants more than anything to make sure she hasn’t completely broken. When he finally releases her wrists, her eyes open, still glassy with unshed tears as his hand slides to her cheek.

“Steve,” she sighs, the sound like a caress.

His mouth meets hers and in that moment, he knows she would let him lead her to ruin.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intel about the traitor leads to an exclusive club where Steve decides to investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

When the heat in my apartment kicks on, it usually wakes me with a start, the rattling a by product of years - maybe decades - of shoddy maintenance. Only this time I can't hear it. I'm draped in warmth, burrowed under a thick comforter and soft flannel sheets. The colors, muted blues and a strip of red are a familiar pattern I thought I was seeing only in my dreams. But it’s real and as the reality of finding myself here once more in his bed makes me get to my knees, the blanket falling down my back. The sun is out, shining through the blinds which means I've overslept, something that I had promised myself I wouldn't do when I was being carried to bed. I'd fully intended on waking up in my own bed, ears alert to the loud heater and searching for my phone that always gets caught up in my thin sheets.

I wonder if he's still taking up residence on his couch, searching for my shoes around his massive bedroom before I remember they are still in the living room. Maybe I can make a quick exit, apologize for the unannounced visit and wonder how long I can keep up this act - leaning on him for comfort and then coming to my senses that I should handle my demons on my own. Quick departures have always been what I have been good at, years of being aware of my emergency exits in case of trouble have made me a master of reading rooms and people. Steve is safe. I know this even without his heroic mantle.

But I know myself and the fact that I can’t deny how he knows what I need even more then I do. The control that he has isn’t the way it feels with Pierce. It’s quiet and powerful, giving me the space to just be, where I’m safe and protected. That’s something I haven’t had in a long time.

The scent of coffee hits my nose once I open the door, the sound of a pan moving on the stove and cabinets opening and closing. He’s still here and I freeze, unsure how I’m going to get past him. I can’t stay. It isn’t right to be here in the first place, to continue to indulge in something that makes me feel secure when I don't know what _this_ is. The look in his eyes the night prior did me in, the way his voice took a hard turn and the desire to please overwhelmed me along with the friction of moving against his thigh. If I ever believed in magic, I saw it that night, the veil between the reality I knew to what I saw it could be within his gaze.

And I wanted more. But that was for another day. When I wasn't actively trying to slip out the door to be alone with my thoughts.

My plan was thwarted when he turned around, spatula in hand, clad in a t-shirt and track pants. A far cry from the Steve Rogers who was launching his shield at enemies and giving motivational speeches. More familiar and relatable. His eyes are following me as I stop in my tracks.

"You should probably have breakfast before you disappear on me again."

He motions to a barstool and I sit, a plate placed in front of me of eggs, bacon and hash browns. A mug of coffee is placed to my left, steam rising from the top. Steve opens the fridge, his back to me while he takes inventory. I let my legs dangle from the height of the chair, feeling weightless while I survey my breakfast. This is new. My idea of breakfast is a cup of coffee and a protein bar. This feels domestic.

"I usually drink mine black but I have milk if that helps."

The carton and a spoon are placed in front of me, the hands that held me gripping the counter, those blue eyes that I found solace in searching my face.

"Do you want to tell me what happened yesterday?"

I do and I don't. There's a hard rule about talking about work, let alone about the people who frequent the establishment. If I could, I'd tell confess that I didn't want to go back. Not while Pierce was there. I'd been editing my resume when time permitted but my plan was to pay off my debt and never look back and I was getting so close that I figured a few more months wouldn’t hurt if I stayed.

When the question hangs in the air, he shakes his head, disappointment registering on his face.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what's bothering you."

"You are helping me," I urge.

"Am I? I've held you down twice, restrained you and you keep coming back." He says it like he's surprised, as if I didn't need him to do that. A sigh of defeat slips from his lips and he picks up a sponge to wash the dishes in the sink, the veins in his arms flexing with every movement.

"Because I... need it."

I wish I could explain the reasoning, the way I can give up control and know I'm safe. Saying it out loud seems like I'm confessing a sin. I felt him holding back the night before, how his voice wavered with his instruction to remove my skirt. I saw what he could be capable of once I complied and I wanted more.

Stabbing a piece of egg with my fork made me focus and the running water was my only response to my confession.

"The things I want to... need..." His voice trails off, his hands scrub harder at the pan. "You don't want that."

"Don't want what?" I think I know what I'm asking but the look he gives me makes me believe I don't.

He shuts the faucet off, drying the pan before he puts it away. The silence worries me, to the point where I nervously sip my coffee and down half of it before he finally answers.

There's something in his eyes that looks unhappy - lonely? Whatever it is, it feels final and my stomach does a flip. I'm not hungry anymore. Anxiousness has replaced any appetite.

"What I did to you.. I want to do it every time. Day or night. More than that. I want you to relinquish control." He’s quiet again, jaw flexing with the weight of his words. “It’s wrong of me to ask that of you but you’re what I want. All of you.”

The mug clinks down on the counter, the only sound between us before Steve turns his back to me, fists at his sides before he puts away the rest of the dishes. His hand is shaky, the plate connecting with the others. The cabinet door closes and I chew on a piece of bacon to distract me. I imagine those hands around me again, my mind going to places that I'd only thought about under the safety of my blankets. It's always been there - that _want_ \- even when I've tried to deny it.

Maybe even a need. My fork falls to the plate as I imagine what he means by _“more than that”_.

His shoulders drop and he clears his throat.

"Finished?"

"Yes. Thank you." So many thoughts and things I want to say but I settle with pleasantries.

He reaches for the plate and I swear for a moment there's a hint of tears in his eyes before he blinks, the plate and mug disappearing from my sight. My toes touch the hardwood floor while I search for my shoes and the rest of my clothes. I like being in this shirt I woke up in. His shirt.

But he's clearly not ready to continue this conversation and I understand it. I take that as my cue to leave.

When I'm leaning down to collect my socks, he finally speaks.

"I'm sorry I overwhelmed you. You have every right to go out that door and never see me again." The wind is knocked out of me and I hold what is left of my breath. He reaches me, dish towel slung over his shoulder, his hands on his hips. "But if you come back, I want you to know that is what I want. The moment you step through that door, I'll want you in every single way I've been dreaming about."

His voice is clear. Determined. There's no mistaking what he means and I owe him more than a simple nod.

I kiss him instead, leaning on the tips of my toes to reach him before those arms steady me and hold me in place. Pierce is non-existent in this part of my world. But first, I need to make a plan to get away from him and Wendy. Start fresh somewhere else so I can keep this part of me to myself before anyone else tries to insert themselves into it.

"I understand," I start, his arms relaxing around me before he lets me go. Somewhere inside his room, an alert goes off and he frowns.

”I should go get that.”

I nod, collecting the rest of my things. He hesitates once more before the alert goes off twice more.

When he goes into the bedroom to answer it, I slip out the door, intent on returning.

🕯

Sam's voice filters in and out between Steve's thoughts and he forces himself to pay attention while he fills the team in on the recent events that have unfolded. It’s Sam’s first mission on his own, no longer tethered to Steve or Natasha for direction. A shipment of firearms was brokered by Hydra at an upscale club, exclusive enough to be invite only but orchestrated by Jack Rollins, one of the Strike team members that as been on countless missions with the team. Sam believes that this is the last stronghold of Hydra and it’s only when he recites the name of the establishment that Steve lifts his head.

 _Ignis_. 

The same insignia on the card that he had been told to keep weeks ago.

His mind is made up, the paper placed on the table.

"I'm going," Steve announces, knowing that Sam won't put up a fight. All the glory can go to Sam as far as he's concerned. Steve's frustration at there even still being a Hydra in this day and age is at an all time high that turns into an anger he tempers on the surface. Natasha looks concerned, sharing a glance at Tony, who leans back in his chair.

"You sure you want to go down that route, Cap? Ignis doesn't seem like your kind of thing. Half naked women, bondage and back room happy endings. That's more my scene than yours. You'll be covering your eyes the minute you enter." Tony's mouth turns upward into a smirk, waiting for him to take the bait.

Steve ignores the dig, standing up from his chair.

"You don't just waltz into that place, Steve. It's invite only," Natasha points out. It doesn't matter. It's never stopped him before.

He doesn't tell her how he already has a way in. Sam crosses his arms over his chest, waiting for Steve to give him a hint of what is to come.

"Don't worry about it. Sam, pick out your best suit. We'll meet at seven."

The card is inspected under a black light, the insignia visible as the man at the front slides the card back to Steve. Sam nudges him, a grin spreading across his face.

"You want to tell me how you got that card?"

"No," Steve replies, adjusting his black rimmed glasses that he bought merely for show. It's a small change that shouldn't cause people to do a double take but they do anyway, patrons walking by unsure of who they are seeing before he disappears out of their line of sight.

"You wanna show me the card one more time?"

"We're working, Sam," Steve reminds him, sliding the card in his suit pocket. He's used to his uniform, though this change in clothes isn't unwelcome. He's used to his standard fit that is made to move in and this is much more constricting. With the adjustment of the silver cuff links, he feels the stretch in his arms and back before he lowers his arm. Tony was right - this is much more his type of entertainment and Steve finds himself taking in the paintings that adorn the walls that, upon further inspection, are outlines of art forms engaged in various sexual positions.

"Right this way gentlemen," a voice beckons, breaking his concentration on the art. Steve ignores the grin that spreads on Sam's face as the woman motions for them to follow her. Sam is a consummate professional but the pull of what this building symbolizes and the fact that he's basically masquerading as someone else holds an appeal. Even despite the awe of the lounge, massive in its own right with high backed chairs and servers dressed in short uniforms, Sam's eyes are searching the tables with every step.

Which is good for Steve, who feels a sense of pride at watching his friend take the reins and lead. This means that Sam doesn't have time to press him about way he came into the facility earlier in the day, heading straight to the gym before their meeting. He hadn't meant to be that bold, to let the words spill out of his mouth so quickly. But the minute they were out in the open, he knew he was not going to take them back. He wouldn't tell her the details - how he wanted to bring her to the edge, with his fingers, mouth or cock, he wasn't sure which - watch her lips beg against his own while he denied her until he couldn't any longer. How her nipples would look in the clamps, running his tongue over her pebbled flesh and the sounds she would make. _Those_ thoughts Steve wouldn't describe to her. His mind had been working overtime, rationalizing his needs and wants until he didn't want to reason anymore. It was simpler to leave it open ended and have her make the decision.

Which he believed she made when she slipped out the door.

Not that he would blame her. He'd go back to dreaming, try to get her out of his system once this was all over. That part of him he would hide away once more. He'd done it before and could do it again.

Even if he doesn't want to. Sometimes he feels like a relic that time forgot, the reminder that his missed life experiences mean that he seems to always be two steps behind. This was the closest he'd come to letting his imagination and his reality blend together and while they are seated at a table, Steve wonders briefly for a moment if that was the last time.

"What can I interest you in?" a curvy brunette asks, giving a flirty wink as she stands near the table. Charm and poise is not in short supply and Sam smiles back at her while Steve fights back an eyeroll.

"Hello," he begins, taking another sweep around the room. "I'll have a sidecar and my friend here..."

"An old fashioned," Steve answers, waiting for the joke that is coming.

"The jokes write themselves," Sam quips, nodding at the server who gives a polite smile before she leaves to retrieve their drinks.

The joke Steve knows is on the tip of Sam's tongue doesn't make it's way into the atmosphere. Instead, Sam's eyes narrow at something behind Steve.

"Three tables back. Rollins. Senator Stern."

Steve can feel the blood in his veins thrum at the confirmation. Stern is known in Hydra circles, his election to his Senate seat boosted by their organization.

"Money exchange," Sam continues, going quiet as the drinks are placed between them. "Guess we know who the traitor is."

"That's just the start. Rollins is a yes man."

Sam sips his drink, trying to look casual while he continues to observe them.

"You think the strike team is compromised?"

"If not the entire team then enough of it. Rollins doesn't like to work alone."

Sam's eyebrows lift in surprise. Steve downs his drink. Arguably one of the better takes on an old fashioned that he's had in a long time but not enough for him to order another

"They're leaving. Probably going downstairs. Kinky motherfuckers," he informs Steve with a shake of his head, finishing the last of his drink. "You know all that shit Tony was talking about? That's what goes on downstairs apparently."

"Charming."

"We do this my way, right?" It's a question that normally Sam wouldn't ask. But it's Steve and he knows that as much as he's the one usually in charge, it's a reminder that Sam can do this on his own. He's fully capable - Steve knows this - and with a simple nod, Sam gets confirmation that this is still his to finish.

"What's the plan?" Steve doesn't need to ask because he knows his friend already has one but he wants to hear it anyway.

"They'll be getting down and dirty in there for at least a few hours. Rollins has a suite somewhere down the halls. We investigate, see what we can get and then make a move."

Confident strides leave no room for people around them to wonder if they belong there, strolling down the hallway while Sam passes a server who gives them a long gaze, her dress leaving little to the imagination. Steve imagines what she would look like in a dress like that and he focuses his thoughts back to the row of doors ahead.

"Any one of them could be his. Rollins has his own server from what I was told. She wasn't with them earlier." Sam inspects the name plate next to a door. "Never names. Only numbers."

It makes sense. Harder to pin down a regular at this establishment, even with their security protocols. Steve is about to ask Sam a question when he swears he hears a familiar voice. It's faint but noticeable, enough to make him turn his head at the sound, a door closing before it's silenced. There's a feeling inside him that is uneasy and though he can't explain to Sam, they continue on until they pass a woman with strawberry blonde hair, tossing it over her shoulder while she moves past them. Sam swivels on his heel to motion to Steve.

"That's her. Rollins' little pet, as he calls her. That man is into some freaky stuff."

Steve continues to watch her walk past, the uniform she's wearing familiar to one he's seen before. Her skirt is red - shorter. But the blouse is the same. He remembers the shape of the buttons that fell from her open shirt that had fallen to the floor.

Sam continues down the hallway, Steve in tow when he hears the voice again. A door is cracked open, barely noticeable to the naked eye but Steve turns to watch a figure appear through it and shut it closed, black thigh high socks and the few inches of skin on display before the skirt covers the rest. Her legs stumble a few steps before she lifts her head, rocking her heels back and forth and Steve is transported to the night prior. His face goes pale at the sight of her, his lips parted in mid shock as he stares.

When her eyes meet his, the tray falls from her fingers and onto the plush carpet. Sam isn't in earshot when he calls out to her, on her knees as she picks up the tray, her gaze never faltering from him as she stands.

It's as if she knows he's going to question her, ignoring his command to stay put, the sway of her hips as she walks away quickly, turning to look back at him once more before she disappears down a hallway.

Steve holds up a hand to signal to Sam, who confirms that he's going on a separate path and he follows down the hall. It's quiet, another row of doors and servers that move past him, some giving him lingering glances and others ignoring him completely before he rounds the corner. He knows whoever is that in that room is the cause of her stress and his blood boils at the thought. He can't leave Sam without an explanation and he won't, not when they are so close to finding out what Rollins is up to. This is where his compartmentalization kicks in, trying to fit everything he had into boxes of priorities that both require his attention.

"Steve."

Sam's voice snaps him out of the dark, literally and figuratively, as he makes his way toward Steve, a grim look on his face.

"We won't find anything else here. His girl disappeared down some hallway and just vanished. I'll do some more research when we get back to the facility."

Steve knows this all too well. His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows. He wants to knock down every single door until he finds her. But Steve knows better. He's always been controlled with his anger.

"You hear me?"

"Yeah," Steve replies finally after a moment. "You go ahead. I'll meet up with you in a few. Thought I heard something. Gonna check it out."

"You know, if you want to stay here a little while longer, you can just say so," Sam jokes. It's meant to lighten the mood but Steve knows that he doesn't know what has transpired in the past week or so, that it's not about being in this place as much as it is about finding her. He feels Sam leave him, quiet surrounding him on either side before she appears at the end of the hallway.

By the time he reaches her, his strength overtakes his rational, herding her to the back of the hall and away from prying eyes. There are questions he wants to ask, demands he wants to fire off but she pulls on his tie, her lips pressing against his. The kiss sets him on fire, the suit jacket incubating his already hot skin. When he pulls her toward him, she doesn't move, her head shaking wildly.

"I can't." Her voice is low, full of fear as she looks behind him. "His Asset... I've been gone too long. He'll come looking for me."

"Who?" If she tells him who is going to find her, he'll scorch the earth to keep her safe if it means he won't have to see this fear in her eyes.

"Take me home," she whispers against his neck, hands still twisting at his shirt. It's urgent and more of a demand than her usual plea. "Before he comes."

He's aware of the conversation they had the morning prior. He doesn't remind her of what he had told her when her eyes lift to the door across from them.

Once they make it outside and the emergency exit stops ringing in his ears once they get to a cab, Steve fires off a text to Sam to let him know he's going home. It's direct and to the point but on brand for Steve when he wants to be alone, something Sam understands all too well. Whatever she's running from, Steve promises that he'll find out, get the answers from her the only way he knows how.

But with her hands shaking as she puts them in her lap, trying to put on a brave face, he knows he won't ask her tonight.

"Too tight?"

The crystals in the cuffs glitter in the low light as her wrists pull on the links, keeping the chain taunt for a moment as her body relaxes on the pillows.

"No." Her voice is quiet but clear.

The cuffs look better than he expected them to, her fingers brushing against the headboard before the links clink softly. It's a sound Steve doesn't think he'll ever tire of hearing. Underneath him, the vision in his dreams that he'd conjured up is real, lips swollen with the intensity of how he's kissed her, the temporary mark of possession that fades within minutes before he does it again. Her breathing is even, his hands mapping out every inch of her skin, the peaks of her breasts and the curves of her stomach and hips. The power of his touch and how a single application of pressure can have her making the most beautiful sounds.

For now, he wants to learn her body, the pads of his fingers dragging against her soft skin. It's in touch only, her eyes closing before he realizes she's close to sleeping. For the moment, he can admire her before he covers her with a blanket, waiting for her to slip into a deep sleep before he removes them.

Sleep comes quickly and before he unlocks the cuffs, he lingers on her face before his gaze drifts to the empty space next to her. She lifts easily in his arms when he settles her away from the door and closer to the window. If anyone attempted to get inside his apartment, they'd have to get through him first. It's a comforting thought until Steve realizes the real battle has not yet begun. For now, he'll do what he does best - protect. Her warm weight next to him is foreign but he can't deny the comfort it brings him.

And for the first night in decades, Steve sleeps through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to be blown away by the comments you have all left! Thank you so much for reading and stay safe out there.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tests her limits. Pierce closes in on taking what he wants by utilizing his most reliable resource.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

Steve's inquiry comes later in the day. It's after he thinks about it on his run with Sam and Natasha, his thoughts drowning out their protests when he passes them for the second time. They're closing in, he can feel it. Rollins is under surveillance, given a false mission to keep him occupied. The feeling that something much worse than Rollins is on the horizon as he finishes his run makes him want to get back to his apartment to make sure she is safe.

There's a sense of home being more than just a building - Steve begins to wonder if it's a person - when he opens the door to find her sitting on the couch, deeply engrossed in a book. It's an old one, the spine cracked in half and the pages yellowed. It had belonged to Peggy once upon a time, given to him upon her passing. The way her hands carefully hold the book together let him know she is as gentle as he already knew she would be.

Too many questions he wants to ask are on the tip of his tongue. He's used to interrogating to get what he wants and to apply pressure when cooperation is not on the table. This is different. He could demand to know who scared her the previous night, the one that caused the fear in her eyes and the scared whimper in her sleep that woke him. Steve doesn't know what she's been subjected to and quite frankly, he tells himself he doesn't want to know at the moment. He just knows he wants to ground out whatever threat is hanging over her, eviscerate it so she doesn't have to fear it anymore.

The question comes after moments of silence, hours after they eat a quiet lunch that Steve picked up, the crunching of the paper bags from their sandwiches breaking the silence as he tosses it into the trash.

"The other night when I saw you. You almost fell when you left the room. What happened?"

The panic that registers on her face means that he needs to get a solid answer. She quietly folds a stray napkin in squares, her lower lip rolling through her teeth.

"It was nothing. Just stiff."

Her voice is thin as she tells her lie, not looking Steve in the face before she finished her soda, playing with the silver tab. Anything to distract herself. Whatever this is, whatever has happened, it makes Steve's senses go on high alert. He struggles with the need to command it out of her, his hands fists at his sides. She's not the enemy - Steve know this - but the overwhelming need to protect her washes over him with every movement she makes. A dark thought crosses his mind and his voice lowers with his next question.

"Does he... touch you?"

Her head shakes with denial, her fingers gripping the cushion of the couch as if it would get up and fly away. The denial is supposed to bring him comfort, which has the opposite effect when his mind wanders just to what she's instructed to do inside that room.

"No. He isn't allowed to."

"Who isn't allowed to?"

He knows he should stop while he's ahead. Whoever it is, he's found a loophole to whatever rules her employer has put in place - rules that are clearly different for her than the others - and Steve feels his chest tighten at the thought that she could be used as prey. His mind files over to Rollins and his ilk, the woman known as his 'pet' and he clears his throat, trying to ease the anger that is itching to be freed from his lips.

"You said he has an asset. What is it?"

"I can't, Steve." The sleeves of her shirt are covering her hands, her wrists rolling over each other. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

"What is he allowed to do? What has he done to you?"

"I can't talk about it. I'm fine. Yesterday was just a shock but I'll get used to it."

"Get used to what?"

His tone is sharper and he sees her wince, bowing her head as a small sniffle hangs in the silence before she finally speaks.

"I should go."

"Where? Back there? What would have happened if you hadn't gotten away?" He knows he needs to calm down, his gaze dropping to watch the sleeves on her shirt that seem longer than before, still pulling on the fabric and wrists rolling over and over.

A shuddered breath is all the confirmation he needs that it has gone too far. Still terrified out of her mind, retreating back inside herself like she had done in the gym. When he lifts himself from the couch, the tunnel vision propels him to his bedroom, pacing around his room while he waits to hear the sound of the door closing. Waiting to hear her slip out of his grasp like he'd been waiting for her to do the moment he woke up in the morning.

When he picks up the cuffs in his hands, the cool weight in his palms, he flexes his jaw under the magnitude of what he wants to do. He remembers the curves of her body in real time, closing his eyes for a moment as the memory of her riding his thigh comes crashing back to him as the cuffs drop back down in the drawer. His tongue sweeps over his lips before he closes the drawer for the final time, sinking down slowly at the edge of the bed. It's still quiet, the sound of the rumble of soda cans in the distance letting him know she's still here and trying to clean up after herself even if he didn't ask her to.

Between the tightrope of determination of chasing what he wants, he studies his hands, the lines on his palms and the calloused fingers and marks that will heal but never fade. The ones that he sustained before he was the man he is now. He's used to punching, wrapping these hands around necks and holding onto the shield. Steve knows what else they can be used for and places them on the bed on either side of him while he calls out her name.

He doesn't have to wait long, glassy eyes hidden under thick eyelashes and a pretty tear stained face greets him at the doorway. Her fingers are still rolling into fists, trying to fight against that fight or flight that she battled with once he had first asked his question. But her gaze is focused on the cuffs on his lap, blinking slowly without making a movement toward him.

It's a dance, the way they watch each other without saying a word with the anticipation building. He's dreamed about this more than once, much more than he is comfortable to admit as she crosses over the threshold, her steps light as a feather until she is within reach.

"Shirt," he begins, his voice every bit the leader that he's known to be and he watches her hand tremble before she lifts the hem of her shirt up and over her head. He's rewarded with bare skin, breasts that he could only have created in his dreams. He has enough self control to not reach out and touch them - this is about her and not him - and he studies the valley between them, the pebbled nipples and the soft weight that he knows will feel like heaven in his hands.

He's given this too much thought not to know what he wants, her wrists offered to him slowly.

Just as he imagined it.

At the clink of the cuffs, he studies them around her wrists, the trembling slowly subsiding as the chain goes taut for a moment, her breasts pressing together with every movement of her arms.

"Better?" Steve focuses on her wrists that continue to test the strength of the cuffs, her breathing still uneven.

He only gets one shot to get this right and he intends to do it correctly.

"Shorts."

The barely there shorts were half way down the front when he helped her peel them off, leaving her in a pair of emerald colored panties.

"Final chance to answer me," Steve begins, his voice measured with a stolid tone. "Who is he?"

His name is a small whisper on his lips, fresh tears in her eyes as her breath cuts short with his hands that travel behind her thighs and grip the curves of her ass, pulling her toward him.

"One day you'll tell me," he continues, spreading his legs open slightly.

She's over his lap in an instant, a soft gasp erupting from her lips at the positioning of her body over his. For a moment, as his hand travels over the small of her back and over the crest of her backside, Steve is reminded of how months prior he was yearning to feel what he has now in his possession. He can almost hear the rush of blood to his head, observing her from the tips of her fingers to the cuffs, down the planes of her shoulders and to where his hand rests.

A hand that could inflict as much damage as he wanted.

Her chest shudders against his thigh, breath halting with a small cry.

"Breathe," he instructs, fingers hooking inside the waistband of her panties and drawing them down slowly, watching how the fabric moves down with ease. The idea of another man getting to do this with her unearths a growl from the depths of his soul. He'll find out who haunts her dreams and he'll enjoy ripping them apart. Another bully to dismantle and he can't wait to do it.

He wets his lips briefly, pausing before he gets overwhelmed with the need to finish what he's started.

"What are your words?" he's practiced saying this before, staying up hours into the night while researching to know this is needed and a precaution so he does not lose control.

"Yellow," she murmurs against the blanket before she takes a small breath. "Red."

"Breathe," he reminds her, feeling her lungs expand.

The first sound of his hand hitting her soft skin vibrates through his ears, her stomach tight as she gasps, her hands forming to fists.

After the seventh strike, the tears come. Steve can see them on her face, the wetness sliding down high cheekbones as her eyes are closed shut, teeth gritting with every connection of his hand to her skin.

On the eleventh strike, he hears a soft moan, stopping momentarily before she buries her head in the blankets.

"Please... don't stop," she hiccups.

"Color." His hand splays over her heated skin, sweat running down his forehead as his own heart slams into his chest.

"Yellow." Her voice is strained, her knees bending forward slightly.

At the movement, Steve can feel the temperature rising between her legs, like a furnace and he resists the urge to investigate it. The fact alone that he knows she's wet - and by his own hand - gives him a sacred sense of power that he can't describe. He can't remember the last time someone trusted him so wholeheartedly. Perhaps way back when, saving Bucky who continually followed him into the fire. Maybe Sam - but Steve doesn't want to think about that right now.

All he wants to think about is how he's going to preserve this moment, watching her shoulders drop to the bed with a delicate breath after the final strike comes. His hand is steady on her thigh, skin raised where he'd repeatedly landed as he realizes he's trying to control his own breathing. He's dizzy, eyes still on her as he finds his voice again.

"You did so well. That was perfect."

Her lips are still slightly parted, the cupid bow of her upper lip slick with perspiration, her eyes still closed as she breathes. The tears are still there, a calming balm as her body shivers after a few moments.

There is no resistance when he lifts her back up onto the bed, resting her against a pillow before he unlocks the cuffs, carefully and slowly to hear her whimper the loss of the restraints before he makes sure she's belly down on the bed. Another shiver goes through her and his lips brush against her back before the praise escapes his mouth.

"My good girl. So proud of you."

He's as hard as steel, a common problem he's had since he's met her but now isn't the time to chase after it. Not when he knows that she needs him.

And so he does it without much of a thought, like a second nature as he covers her with the blankets, monitoring the stuttering in her chest while he rubs her back gently. He's used to leaving the destruction for someone else without a second thought. Unconscious bodies in his wake. But here and now, the numbing gel that he collected on his fingers spreading over her abused skin, this is where he belongs. Building her back up with every soft slip of his hand to ease the gel to keep her comfortable, the washcloth cool against her body as she sleeps.

Maybe later there will be time to form the words to describe the gift she has just bestowed upon him, the chance to be himself without the pretense. This control, so different from what he's used to on a day to day basis, a chance to be confident in what he wanted and just take.

Which would not have been possible without her.

It isn't until he wakes up hours later to a darkened apartment, the top of her head pressed under his chin with her arm holding him close to her that he realizes that he'd fallen asleep.

🕯

"Look who finally decided to show up," Georgette greets me when I finally step inside.

The pep talk I'd given myself had taken ten minutes while I stood at the entrance. I'd do one more week and then put in my two weeks. Not exactly a good plan but I'd used up a week of sick pay and I was hoping I'd be lucky enough that Pierce had given up and there would be a chance that I would not have to deal with him tonight.

"I hope you're feeling better."

By her tone and the smirk, she knows I wasn't sick. Truthfully, I'm here to formally request that I don't work for Pierce - or Rollins for that matter - and that I want to finish out my time in peace.

"Much," I answered her, trying to shake the feeling that something was wrong. I hadn't felt it until I saw her face.

"I guess you didn't hear the commotion last week? Apparently we had a few spies looking for Rollins and Sterns. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"How would I know?" I grabbed a tray, setting it down on the counter so I wouldn't have to look at her.

"Because right after, you disappeared. Pierce spent a lot of time asking questions. Interrogated me. Kimber too."

At the sound of Kimber's name, I whirled around. Georgette raised her eyebrows at my expression.

"What?"

"What did he ask?"

She gave a dismissive wave of her hand.

"He was interested in where you went. Seems like right around the time we had those guys looking around, you up and left. I told him I didn't know where you were. He pressed me a little more on it but thank god I don't give a shit about your life. That man is relentless. You know, you could be making hand over fist with how much he keeps tabs on you. Scared the shit out of Wendy. She'll be glad you're back. I'm guessing she'll want a doctor's note from you. A week is long time to be gone."

There it was.

A shiver snaked down my back.

"If she asks, I'll have it ready," I lied. "Where's Kimber?"

"Who knows? She called out sick for the past two days," Georgette informs me. "Must have caught the same bug."

I don't give her the satisfaction of watching me leave, balancing the tray and my phone as I try to call Kimber. It goes to voicemail three times before I finally leave a message with a plea for her to call me back. The loneliness creeps in again as I walk down the hallway. Normally I have Steve but for the next few days, it's just me while he's out on a mission. I don't ask what it is but whatever it entails is something that requires me to stay at his apartment and not my own.

But that same feeling of something being off still nagged in the back of my head, even when I opened the door to the new set of faces that were inside a suite, no Rollins or Pierce to be found.

By the time I head back to get a second round, I walk by Wendy's office to see if I can get a glimpse of her at her desk. The lights are out, indicating that she's gone for the night. Which means she won't mind if I cut my night short. I just needed to swing by my place, grab extra clothes and then go back to his apartment before I called Kimber again.

I opened the door to my apartment, not expecting to see Pierce in the middle of of the living room, my coat that I had left at work hanging off his finger.

“How did you get in here?” All pleasantries went out the window at the sight of him.

If he felt slighted at my tone, he didn’t show it, tucking my coat over his arm while he looked over my living room.

“Your landlord Russell and I are old college friends. It’s all innocent, don’t worry. Just wanted to make sure you had your coat back. It’s been freezing out there. I would have given it back to you the other day but you managed to disappear on me,” Pierce replied tersely. "And then for the rest of the week."

“You had him following me the entire time I was there.”

Pierce lifted his shoulders in a shrug, his watery blue eyes narrowing at me.

“There was talk that you’d be putting in your two weeks. I was protecting my investment.”

“Who told you that?”

“Georgette has very loose lips. You really need to be careful with the people you put your trust in. Especially Wendy.”

My fingers gripped the doorknob at his words.

"I wouldn't do that," he warned me. "You wouldn't get that far down the hallway."

"I don't want to call the police."

"Please, call them. A simple welfare check won't take long. I know a few of the officers. Maybe they can escort you back to wherever you've been hiding. Because it hasn't been here. Has it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh? Georgette was very open with the fact that you don't talk to her as I thought you might. I'm not surprised, she's a little more on the wild side for my tastes. But Kimber... that's where I found my answers."

"Where is she?"

Pierce smiled at me, placing my coat over the arm of the chair. My mind ran a mile a minute, the thoughts of her being hurt somewhere making me forget to breathe.

"When I'm ready to tell you, I will. But I want my questions answered first."

I see it again, the stare that he gives that makes me uncomfortable and I can't look away because I know if I do, he'll do something or say something much worse than what he's done already.

"Fine." It's the only answer I can say that doesn't make me want to burst into tears or scream.

"Where did you go that night? You've always had such impeccable manners. So obedient. What could have caused you to up and leave? Family emergency?"

"I already told you. He kept following me and I didn't like it. Everywhere I went, he was there." Even at the mention of him, the cold look in his eyes, I didn't want to rehash it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were afraid of him. Why don't I have him come out and say hi? Get you two better acquainted."

Out of the darkness of the hallway, I saw him come closer, heading straight for me with the same look of determination that he had given me the night he'd followed me down the hall. I twisted the knob, intent on running as far away from here as I could when his hand wrapped around throat before the door was fully open, the steel of his eyes boring into my own. I hated it.

"Careful," Pierce warned, my fingernails sliding against the metal of his arm to try in vain to get him to release me as I coughed. "I don't want bruises on her."

My knees hit the floor once I was pulled toward Pierce, pain vibrating up my thighs and ripping my stockings. If I could keep calm, I'd be fine but I could feel the familiar tightness in my chest and I focused on the floor, ignoring the fact that Pierce was circling me like prey.

"That's better. He likes to win, you know," Pierce points in the direction of his guard dog, the one he calls the Asset. "It's better to let him. He’s very obedient. Much like you can be. Would you like to see?"

"No," I answered quietly. The fear was taking hold and I started to shake.

The Asset stood in front of me, his metal thumb pressing against my lower lip as he held my jaw in his fingers. The rich scent of leather filled my nose from his glove that creaked as he tightened his grip. The pain made me whimper, his thumb pushing inside my mouth, my teeth clinking on it. Pierce sat on the couch, watching as his thumb pushed deeper inside my mouth, pressing against my tongue as I felt the tears come.

"That's nice. Make sure you look at him. Wouldn't want Kimber to be disappointed, would you?"

I looked up at the Asset, his expression dark as his thumb slid deeper and I choked, trying to pull his hand away from my mouth but he was too strong.

"Uncomfortable? I can make it all go away if you promise that you'll do something for me."

I went still, waiting for him to finish as his thumb settled against the flat of my tongue.

"You be my guest at Ignis in a few days and Kimber is free to go back to her job. You get acquainted with what we do down there and everyone is happy. You don't agree to it and I tell him to break your jaw. I didn't want it to come to this. I would have preferred to take you down there the other night but you had other plans. Pity."

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Do you agree to my offer?"

My teeth hit the metal of his thumb as I nodded.

"Much better. Obedience really suits you."

The Asset slid his thumb out of my mouth and I coughed again, wiping my eyes as Pierce stood up.

"I want to thank you for your hospitality. I've enjoyed myself immensely. I'll see you in a few days."

The door closed and I curled up into a ball, the taste of metal still in my mouth, letting the darkness in.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Asset continues to follow orders until there is a glitch. Returning from his mission, Steve investigates the club once more as a confession leads to the man behind Rollins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

There's still no sign of Kimber when I come to.

The taste of metal has since been diminished from my mouth, the apartment still dark and my stockings ripped at the knees as reminder that Pierce knows where I live and I still have to fulfill the promise I'd made.

But even in the dark, I know I'm not alone.

I can make out the Asset's form in the shadows, sitting upright on the couch. I don't have to see his eyes to know that he's looking at me. I can feel it.

The door was within my sights. I'd have to get past him in order to leave. When I finally get to my knees, his head shakes slowly.

"You can't keep me here," I began, still eyeing the door ahead of me. "Is that why you're here?"

He said nothing, still as a statue while I stood, my legs still numb from how I had slept.

"You could... you could just let me go," I offered, a glint of metal shining on his lap.

I had to leave. Nothing was safe here and my internal alarms were firing, telling me to try to make a run for it. A little glimmer of hope was still left inside me as I took a step toward the door and the knife twirled in between his fingers.

I'd seen the way he walked, favoring his left side due to his arm. It would give me a few seconds before he caught up. At least, that was the hypothesis that was going on inside my head while I bit down on my lip. It was now or never and it didn't stop my heart from slamming into my chest once I tried to make a run for it.

The knife whizzed past my head and lodged into the door centimeters from my cheek before I was turned roughly, my back pressed up against the door. My fists hitting against his tactical vest did nothing. Neither did my pulling at his jacket as his metal hand went to my throat as the knife was removed from the door.

"Let me go," I attempted to reply, trying to keep the tears at bay. "You don't have to do this."

The knife skimmed my sweater, the threads catching on the steel as the fabric lifted and ripped cleanly above my bra, the sound of the torn cloth quiet as he gazed at me with those ice blue eyes and back to my chest.

"Please." My resolve was slipping, my eyes closing as a tear ran down my cheek.

The metal hand that was once at my throat was wiping away the tear gently.

"I need Steve." It had come out as barely a whisper, the silence deafening as the Asset narrowed his eyes at me.

"Steve," he repeated quietly, as if trying out the word for the first time. His eyes closed briefly before he took a step back.

"You know him?"

He shook his head, the emotion I had just seen in his eyes slowly fading.

"Go to bed," he ordered, his arm grabbing me and pulling me toward my arm.

"No! You can't!" I tripped over my own feet as he continued on, ignoring me and dragging me forward like I was nothing.

He shoved me into my room, the door slamming behind me as I heard him walk away. He was there to keep watch over me, to make sure I didn't leave.

Which meant Pierce was coming back.

🕯

Georgette’s hand covers mine before I try to reach for another glass. I know she can feel how my hand is trembling and for a moment, the pressure she applies when she grabs it makes me feel a little better but not by much.

“You’re not serving tonight,” she informs me quietly, sliding the tray away from me slowly. “I know he sent you in here for that but there’s other girls for that. Keep your eyes down and you won’t be shocked.”

My usual uniform had been replaced with something much more revealing. The Asset was waiting outside the door, two fresh scars under his eyes and the dark gaze back in his pupils. Pierce had been too cordial when he had returned, almost a gentleman as he waited for me to shower and change before he helped me into the car. Any questions about Kimber had been ignored, with his reminders that I had to listen or else she would not be allowed out.

Georgette tossed back her hair, adjusting the black silk dress over my shoulders.

“Looks good,” she approved with a hint of a smile. “I’d say don’t be nervous, but we all were at one point. There’s a lot of them out there tonight. You want a shot?”

It was against my better judgement, but I couldn’t calm my nerves and my phone was still in Pierce’s pocket. Georgette slid me a shot glass of everclear and held hers up.

“To horny men and sky-high heels,” she toasted, our glasses clinking.

I’d downed the last of it when the door opened, the Asset watching me cough as the liquid burned down my throat. Georgette took one look at him and stepped back.

“You better go.”

The Asset walked behind me, my eyes on the ground as the alcohol started to ease into my belly. Carter, the elevator attendant, gave me a sad smile as he pressed the button.

“They got you too, huh?” His voice was full of concern, something I didn’t need at the moment. “Be careful down there.”

The Asset herded me into the elevator as it chimed and began its descent to the basement. I adjusted the garters on my stockings, trying to keep myself busy as he continued to watch me.

“You said,” I began, trying to find the words to see if I could get a reaction. “You said you knew Steve. How?”

I received no reply, only the same cold stare that he gave me when he first opened the door to where Georgette and I were standing. The elevator chimed once more, the doors sliding open and I made the mistake of looking ahead instead of down.

The music thumped in my ears, the flashing lights highlighting writhing bodies in cages and on the floor where we passed. There were people on their hands and knees in various states of undress, cries of pain and pleasure surrounding me as I kept my head down, passing a collared sub with his mouth being brutally used by two businessmen.

After a bit of a walk and up the steps, there was Pierce, a girl who looked vaguely familiar on her hands and knees, waiting patiently as I stood in the space.

“Ah, there you are,” Pierce greeted, motioning for me to come forward. The alcohol had already begun working through my system. I hadn’t eaten and I was beginning to feel lightheaded.

“I assume Georgette made sure you were calmed,” Pierce continued, reaching for my hand as he pressed his lips against the top of my hand. “Warm already. Georgette really is something special.”

Pierce downed his drink and gave me his usual stare, stopping to stare at the space between the dress and the stockings.

“Sit,” he ordered, holding onto my wrist as I tried to comply. “Not you.”

The Asset sat and I stared at the hand around my wrist. It wasn’t Steve’s hand, the ones that kept me safe and warm at night. Pierce selected a new glass, his gaze darkening at the sound of a painful cry somewhere below us.

“Wendy made it quite clear I’m not to touch you.” He beckoned to the girl, who began to crawl to him on her hands and knees, her breasts swaying with every movement.

“Now you can sit,” he ordered.

I went to sit in between them when he cleared his throat.

“Not there. On his lap, if you please.”

I hovered, swallowing hard as the Asset stared at me. The last thing I wanted was to be anywhere near either of them.

“That’s still touching,” I protested weakly, hearing the sound of the glass placed on the table.

“Wendy was very clear that _I_ am not to touch you. She didn’t say anything about him. Sit.”

The backs of my thighs settled onto his lap as the girl reached Pierce, her forearms leaning on his lap as he brushed a finger against her cheek. The rough material of his pants scratched my sensitive skin as I tried to stay completely still.

The lights hit the ceiling, making me look up at the mirror that was over the space, the tempo of the music changing to a slower pace. I swayed for a moment, my head feeling light as a hand slid to my middle to keep me upright.

“You know what I’ve always admired about you?” Pierce began, saying my name like a caress as he gripped the girl’s chin. “Your vulnerability. People think you’re so strong, don’t they? You came in here looking for a job and you wouldn’t take no for an answer. Even when you didn’t know where you’d end up. You’re moldable. Wendy saw it. I saw it.”

He leaned down to kiss the girl, their lips mashing together with the force of his hand against her jaw.

“And I wondered to myself,” he continued after he broke the kiss, staring into her eyes. “I stayed up most nights wondering when you’d finally break until I realized that you never would. I’d have to break you myself. That little bit of strength you had to keep yourself going without needing my help? Hiding behind Wendy and refusing my advances? I’d shatter the pieces that keep you together, build you back up to how I see you.”

The backhand strike made the girl yelp in pain as I tried to get up to help her, my wrists held behind my back as my heart felt like it was going to explode.

“You bend to no man,” Pierce continued, watching me struggle against the Asset’s grip. “Then I’ll wear you down.”

He caressed the girl’s jaw as the Asset spread his thighs wider, the stretch of my own atop of his following suit as I winced as small sparks of pain shot through my legs.

“How’s the head, kiddo?” Pierce asked, watching me struggle to keep my head up. “That’s some pretty strong stuff. Deirdre knows, don’t you, pet?”

Deirdre. She’d hired in around the same time I had, eager and ready to please. All this time I had thought she had quit. I saw the familiar birthmark on her arm that was peeking out from her dyed red hair.

“Deirdre, why don’t you show our guests how good pets welcome their masters, hmm?”

Her fingers reached for his belt, the sound of the metal clinking as the strap was pulled from the loop, the soft hush of the zipper loud enough for me to hear. I felt like I was floating, eyes heavy amid the quick glance as her lips met the head of his cock. I squeezed my eyes shut before my hands were released and a hand was on my jaw.

“I want you to watch,” Pierce said calmly. “Think of it as a lesson.”

It was sloppy, her throat making obscene noises with every thrust into her wet mouth as she coughed and gagged. Even as she bobbed her head, I saw the telltale sign of her thumb tucked between her fingers to keep the gag reflex at bay. Georgette had taught her well. With every grip of her jaw, my jaw was moved in kind, up and down to mimic her movements.

“Keep your eyes open,” Pierce ordered, his hand on the back of her head. “It’d be a shame if he ruined your pretty dress.”

A warm hand settled over my thigh, which only made me feel more weightless.

I blinked, the haze of the lights and music around me as I felt like I was floating, the Asset’s hand creeping up the inside of my leg. I felt like I was teetering on the edge of a precipice, trying to focus as warmth enrobed me everywhere.

“They call that levitating,” Pierce commented somewhere in between my thoughts. “You look beautiful.”

🕯

The suit has handled enough missions that he actually owns more than one. Not like Tony’s suits of armor but enough to rotate through when the fabrics stretch and tear. It’s almost a second skin, the way the suit molds to his body with enough movement that he doesn’t feel restricted. For the moment, his fingers grip his belt while he searches through the suites. Rollins is in custody, under Natasha’s watch after his false assignment that netted more information than Steve had thought. The betrayal had fractures far deeper than he would have predicted.

But there hadn’t been enough time to discuss it with Hill and Fury. Not when they were so close. It had been a twofold purpose to return to this place. There was more work to be done and Rollins had not been as forthcoming with his information, not uncommon in Hydra circles. This was ground zero and there were others to flush out. His second purpose was that he hoped to come across the one who had made her fearful and end them too. Her lack of communication startles him – he is used to being ignored – but not like this. He’s almost sure her phone is dead and what should be a sense of pride that she would be safe in his apartment has waned significantly since they finished their last mission.

As they split up, Sam taking one wing and he to the other, it’s oddly quiet as he slips through door after door until he reaches one that hasn’t been touched at the end of the hall. Communications from Sam have been brief but informative. There’s commotion somewhere in the basement and Sam can’t resist a fight. Sam doesn’t know about his hobbies, or the fact that he has had a woman presumably living part time in his apartment for the past week and a half, let alone that she works at this establishment.

It’s the third communication from Sam that makes him sigh.

“Rumlow’s here. It’s a goddamn sex club, Steve. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t. What’s the commotion?”

“Hell if I know. There’s naked people everywhere. That’s commotion enough, don’t you think?”

“Where’s Rumlow?”

“Hang on, I think I see him.”

Steve continues to check the suite, aware that of the sound of footsteps that are coming closer. If it’s an attacker, he’s prepared, shield at the ready to block or use as a projectile.

When the door opens with a fury, fingers lock the doors and slide the deadbolt, heavy breaths mingling with the sniffling that he knows before he sees.

The standard uniform is replaced with a silk dress that is falling off her shoulder, her shallow breath morphing into a cry of anguish at the torn garter belt. She looks worse for wear and Steve’s blood boils at the first real sob that escapes from her throat before she turns to look at him.

“What happened?” It’s a command and one that holds no patience for hesitation. He knows the person who she fears as done it again and he fantasizes about breaking their neck.

“He-he let me go. The Asset… he let me go,” her words jumble together, her hands covering her face.

“Is that who it is?”

He reminds himself that in this space, she is safe, his gaze moving between the bolted door and her dazed frame. It takes less than a few seconds to reach her, listening for any threat before he allows himself to comfort her. He was born to be on alert, heightened after he’d gotten stronger – bigger.

“Who is it?” Two hands cup a dainty face, brushing away the tears as he tries another tactic, one that he isn’t used to but is willing to try. Soft isn’t what he’s known for, but he’ll do it for her. “Tell me.”

“You have to help him, Steve,” she begged him through her hiccups. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

He isn’t prepared when she kisses him, urgent and hot, another silent plea to comfort her. This is far from over – finding out who has terrorized her and who the Asset is – but the sense to protect and keep her safe outweighs looking for him. Her hand wraps his own around her wrist.

“Don’t go,” she whispers against his mouth. “Don’t leave me.”

The shield falls to the ground at his own hand before she’s lifted into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist in a way that is so natural that Steve doesn’t give it a second thought when he presses her up against the wall, his mouth seeking purchase on every inch of her warm skin. His sense of resolve crumbles when she makes a soft whine in the back of her throat when his lips draw her skin into his mouth to suck lightly.

The belt slides off quicker than he expected once he’s placed her back down, surrendering her wrists to him that causes something inside him to snap. It’s her dress, Steve realizes, looking at the tears in the fabric. The sense of possession of someone touching her other than himself makes him lift her hands above her head as the belt is wrapped around her wrists.

“Did he touch you?” His voice is strained, the need to possess her entirely a thought that refuses to go away, no matter how many times he’s trying to talk himself out of it.

Nor does he specify which person he’s talking about.

“He’s not allowed,” she reminds him, his knee between her legs as her thighs open wider. “Only you… please.”

At her plea, Steve remembers the space of the Quinjet, when he had hoped to have what is in front of him now – sweet, beautiful and pliant – and under these circumstances, he knows she’s asking for something that he can give her but he isn’t sure of the sustainment if it goes past this moment. He is no stranger to a woman, despite the slight roasting of his teammates. His bigger body attracted attention from the Star Spangled Singers, one of which had shown him the way a woman wanted to be touched. That was ages ago, a distant memory that had warped into something much more.

She’s warm and wet when his hands finally touch her between the juncture of her thighs, her voice raising an octave as he moves the soaked thin material to the side. His fingers are slow as they push inside her, her back arching slightly as sucks in a breath.

“Steve…more, please.” It’s said politely as the knuckles of his fingers disappear inside her. She's tight around his fingers, even just the two and he knows that he’ll have to take it slow before she leans back against him to try to take more. Her head falls back, eyes closing in bliss as his fingers find a slow but steady rhythm.

“You’re so beautiful.” The words are said with praise but Steve knows this to be a fact, the sheen on her high cheekbones and soft, beautiful skin speak to her beauty more than he can say. Poetry in motion as her hips move in time with his fingers. “Are you close?”

A short nod of her head is enough to make him remove his fingers, a soft whine spilling from her lips.

“So close,” she begs. And Steve’s heart skips a beat at what is to come.

“Not yet.”

Though it has been years – decades, if he’s being honest – since he’s been with a woman in this capacity, he knows to take it slow for the moment.

Once he pushes inside, past her silken folds and settles inside her, he now remembers his hand wrapped around his dick in the shower, gripping it tightly to mimic what it would feel like. Nothing compares to her. He’d fight a million wars and then some if it meant he could have this for the rest of his life. The hitch of her breath when he bottomed out inside her made him still, her needy moan for him to move making him crack a smile.

“Remember your words,” Steve urges, moving slightly as her walls drag around him. “You don’t cum until I say so.”

The words slip off his tongue like they’d been practiced and maybe – Steve thinks – they might have. His hand covers both her wrists before he buries himself into her harder. She takes him like she’s been molded to fit him and through her mewls, he sees the shimmer of tears as she squeezes her eyes shut, her fingers rolling into fists.

“I need you,” he says against her ear, swearing by her noises that he’s splitting her in half. “You need me too.”

“Yes! Yes!”

“Close?”

He’s rewarded with a sigh and a head nod, half completed before her fingers scratch against the wall. There’s something about fucking her against the wall, still in his suit that makes him hope he gets the chance to do this again. She has given him a gift, Steve tells himself this over and over as a mantra. She has allowed him space to be himself and that is priceless.

“Steve… please…” her begging is music to his ears, soft and breathy as her walls flutter against his cock.

“Who is it? Who scares you?” He won’t stop until he gets his answer. Until he knows what demon he has to face to keep her safe.

Both of his hands hold hers together as he grants her permission to come against the shell of her ear as she sobs, her cunt clenching around his cock as he follows suit, spilling up inside of her as he waits for her answer as she gathers her breath to speak. Her voice is small, their fingers threading together as she starts to come down from her high. She is his peace and nothing can change that.

“Pierce. His name is Alexander Pierce.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reckoning with the realization of who Pierce truly is and what he has done, Steve confronts a long lost friend to get answers while he grapples with his emotions amid the news of what really transpired that night in the club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

Steve settles into the chair, memorizing the shape of her nose to her cheekbones, the long and lush eyelashes as her eyes are closed. To the cupid’s bow of her top lip and the fullness of the bottom and the small slope of her chin that he’s cupped in his hands multiple times on the way over to Banner’s lab. In the shell of her ear, he’s whispered promises that he’ll keep her safe, hoping that she can hear after slipping away from consciousness after their encounter. The tears that trickle down her soft skin do not belong to her – they’re his – his own breath stifled at the sight of the angry bruises on her inner thighs that were put there by someone else. In his point of view, he's holding onto the most precious thing he's ever held in his life.

Banner gives him space, the tinkering of his tools amid the silence. He knows he’ll have to surrender her over to his friend’s care, the diagnosis after her bloodwork was completed and the analysis a ringing in his ear. A cocktail of drugs in a single shot glass, enough to make her pliant to a madman that would have her hallucinating a completely different experience. The synergy of the drugs could have done much worse had she been allowed to fall asleep.

The Asset had saved her.

“Cap.” Banner speaks softly, and Steve knows it’s time to let him examine her further. His friend asks no questions, simply placing a hand on his shoulder before Steve swallows down the lump in his throat. He’s lost much to this world – his parents, Peggy and Bucky – it seems unfathomable to lose another piece of him that had seemingly restarted his ability to allow himself to feel. He hasn’t done that in so long that it physically hurts to know that he’ll have to revert back to that state if something happens to her.

“Scans came back fine,” Banner continues, knowing that Steve won’t sit if he doesn’t explicitly tell him to. He’s not hovering but close enough that he has to take a step back when Banner gets in closer, the stethoscope against her chest. “Heart’s good. Strong.”

“What,” Steve begins, unsure of he wants to know the answer to the question that plays upon his lips. “What was it?”

“Preliminary research says it’s a new drug cocktail they're calling Levitate. In small doses, it’s a temporary high, lasting no longer than ten minutes.”

Steve watches her as Banner reads the data on his monitor.

“She had at least four times the amount in her system. It’s usually given in pill form. This large amount was more concentrated, coupled with the alcohol. This was purposeful, Steve. Do you know anyone who would want to hurt her?”

He did. It took everything in him not to lash out as he nodded sharply. An anger that threatened to spill over, to attack that he had to contain.

“She’ll be okay.” The confirmation is enough as Banner administers medication to offset the drugs that are still in her system.

At the thought of Banner’s data, he remembers how she responded to him, pleading for him against the door to let her release the pent up energy he had built up inside her.

“She… she found me that night. Was she still hallucinating?”

“It’s not uncommon to have moments of consciousness from what research I’ve managed to find. There are moments of clarity. Synapses can be fired to rouse the person from the hallucinations and for a little while it works until the drug takes over again.”

“Like a pinch or something?” It's the best guess he can think of without thinking of something worse.

“Something like that, yeah. Judging from those bruises, I'd say it was a valiant effort.”

Banner is hinting but Steve knows he’ll never say it outright. He didn’t put those bruises there and if he had, he would not have left them that way.

“I didn’t see them until she passed out. Those... I didn't do that.”

“I’ll keep her overnight for observation,” Banner promises, Steve’s worry abating a little. His friend says nothing else about the bruises on her tender skin. “Why don’t you go on home and I’ll keep you updated.”

By the look on Steve’s face, Banner knows that this is out of the question, Steve giving a shake of his head before he pulls a chair over near the bed.

“I’ll keep watch.”

“Sounds good, Cap,” Banner agrees, checking the monitors before he hides the hint of the smile that wants to appear. Under different circumstances, this would be good fodder to tease him but this is different – Bruce can see it in the protective stare, Steve’s hand reaching out to run his thumb over her the top of her hand as it settles over her own.

🕯

It’s two days later when he finds out the truth.

The burden is heavy as she recalls bits and pieces when his question settles into the space between them, her head tucked under his chin. Steve likes the way she moves closer to him when he comes to bed. He won’t say it yet but he’s hoping he always gets to come home to this, a selfish thought, considering that he can’t bring himself to demand anything other than for her to delay her own orgasm until he gives in. What he knows to be true is that this is more than protecting a civilian under the guise of just sharing a bed.

What’s on the horizon is much more uncertain and uncharted. Sometimes it appears as a thought when he’s going over communications with Nat or listening to Tony wax poetic about another invention. The others take trips, go on dates and have wives.

Steve wonders what it would be like to take her on a real date. He’ll do it one day, he reasons. The sooner he finds Pierce, the sooner she can be free. And he’d do anything to keep her safe and free from him.

Under his arm, she speaks finally, quiet enough to command attention but soft enough for him to not let her go.

“Georgette gave me a shot. There was music. Pierce. The Asset… Pierce made me sit on the Asset’s lap.” It’s said as a secret, shame infused with long pauses as she tries to remember. “A girl I knew, she was there too. He slapped her but it was because of me.”

When she exhales, it’s in a shudder, her body trembling for a moment before she’s gathered closer in his arms.

“Pierce said he would break me. Wear me down.”

Steve does not know how much more he can hear without wanting to rip Pierce limb from limb. He’s always hated bullies. This was much more sinister, a testament to what they could become if left unchecked. He will not ask another question, ready to soothe away any of the pain that lingers in her voice and breath.

“The Asset was told to mimic everything Pierce did to Deirdre.”

Her words are spoken softly but with no emotion. Steve goes still, remembering Sam’s words at the girl he’d found, seemingly unfazed by her interaction with Pierce, who had managed to get away. He had not been shy with what he had seen, nor what was implied by his words.

“Mimic everything?” Steve repeats the last of her comment as a question, realizing that he’s said it out loud, her hands covering her face to hide the tears that he knows are coming.

“I can’t remember it. I want to, Steve, I want to so bad. I just remember feeling like I was flying, about to go over a cliff. I felt his hands where Pierce’s was and then I didn’t feel them anymore. I just felt… different.”

Banner mentioned that her memory of the night would be spotty at best, her only clarity from when she was literally snapped out of it for the short time. Pierce had flown off to some unknown locale – only temporary if Steve had his way.

“And Kimber,” she says with a soft sob. “He was supposed to let her go.”

His lips brush against her forehead. It's like a balm, the way she relaxes at his touch.

“She’s fine. Sam found her. She’s at home, resting. Worried about you.”

“Me? Steve, she was taken because of me and -”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s safe.” It isn’t meant to dismiss her concerns but to stop him from letting his mind wander to

“But it’s my fault.”

“It isn’t. It never was. You’re safe. Trust me.”

Long moments pass in silence, his fingers skimming against her warm skin. He believes she’s fast asleep, still worn out from the detox Banner has given her. He’s not quite ready to sleep until he knows for sure, her breathing even as an indication. But Steve just knows. He closes his eyes, body still ready to be activated for the fight that he knows will be coming eventually and to keep alert in case someone tries to invade.

“I know,” comes the sleepy reply, mouth brushing against his neck. “I trust you with my life.”

🕯

The elusive Asset, known only as the Winter Soldier per Natasha’s once tall tale – or so Steve had thought – had materialized before his eyes once the mask had been ripped away. The fight had been brutal, Steve’s shield caught in the Asset’s own hands. One of flesh and one of metal, Steve’s fury at the peak of knowing what those hands had done to the one who was currently tucked away in his apartment, hoping for his return. He was battered and bruised but would heal.

And so would Bucky.

When the face came into view, Steve remembers the raised eyebrows when they were kids, Bucky’s surprise at the much smaller boy as he reached out a hand to pull Steve off from the ground that he had been pushed onto, scrapped elbows and full of anger at being bested once again. Now they were matched in strength and body. The Asset – Bucky – was alone when Steve had tracked him and now, as the two super soldiers stare, he knows that the person standing in front of him is a shell of the person he used to be.

The shield had since fallen to the ground, decades passed by without neither of them knowing the other still existed and there is only time between them at the moment, between breaths that struggle to return back to normal amid wounds that will heal faster than normal. There are many things Steve wants to say but the broken stare in his best friend’s eyes is all he can focus on. For now, his friend is alive and he’ll count his blessings later but first he needs to know the details so that Pierce can pay.

“She said you saved her, Buck.”

Bucky slumped to the ground, still stunned at the fierce fight that had taken place moments ago. Before he knew of the stranger in front of him that wasn’t one any longer. Before his memory was jogged once more of what he had done. Of everything that is slowly coming back to him.

“Pierce was going to take her.” Bucky stares at the ground as if in a trance. “Far away.”

“Take her where?”

Bucky shook his head, long hair lifting with every movement.

“Out of the country. Keep her hopped with the drugs and he would do whatever he wanted. He likes that she's so submissive. She broke through to me… the night Pierce found her. Her tears,” Bucky pauses, closing his eyes briefly. “I felt something that night. Pierce tried to wipe my brain again but I came to when she…that night at the club.”

“What did you do?” Steve needs to hear the words, to know what transpired. Even if it hurts to hear.

“I touched her. Pierce wanted me to go farther but she broke me again. The drug he had poured into whatever the hell she drank was working and I had to move fast.”

“The bruises.”

With a curt nod, Bucky ran his hand through his hair, trying to maintain some sense of composure.

“She was falling asleep. Pierce would have taken her and… in front them.”

Steve's rage is white hot. The need to rip something - anything - apart is strong, tempered by the fact his best friend is alive and here in the flesh. There's still time to help Bucky. To help him heal and get him well. Steve knows he'll pay for this later, once he's compartmentalized everything that has happened. As of right now, he's focused on getting answers.

“Who? In front of who?”

When Bucky’s eyes raise to stare into Steve’s, there’s nothing but pain and disbelief at what he is about to reveal. 

“Hydra. Pierce is the head of Hydra.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A promised date comes to fruition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony makes no mention of Steve's request for a table at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. He knows Steve has been busy, the weariness written on his face that he can hide at a moment's notice that Tony sees for an instant longer than usual. For a super-soldier, it's a lapse in perfection, something that makes Steve so imperfectly perfect that Tony can appreciate, firing off the date and time before he makes a mental note to ask him who the woman is that he's keeping from the team once they meet again.

Steve aims to make good on his promise, a date that he's waited for that still reveals his nerves when he asks her measurements while trying not to court suspicion. She's healed and safe inside his apartment, the domestic slice of life that feels like he's dreaming when he opens the door to find her still there. He knows he's protective, hovering from the doorway when Kimber came to visit, two broken souls much like a mirror image of himself and Bucky - the latter who currently spends his days at Shuri's lab, freshly set up at the compound as he undergoes his deprogramming. In the interim, she asks about the man who she had feared, curious to know if he was saved, much like she was. There's a look of relief in her eyes when Steve confirms it, another anxiety falling away as the threat still looms overhead.

But for one night, knowing that he isn't quite sure if he'll ever have the chance to get the courage to do it again, he gets the opportunity to treat her to dinner with a little surprise.

🕯

Her eyes are wide when they are seated while he pulls out his phone and steadies it on his lap. He thinks she's never looked more beautiful. Minimal makeup by his request, even if she had protested against it until he supplicated her with compliments, the black silk dress hugging her in all the right places. Her hand in his feels natural, like an extension of himself that isn't the shiny metal shield that he's known for. He can see the reflection of the lights in her eyes with every slow blink that she does, drinking in her fill at the opulence of the place that Tony had secured for them. It's a private table, hidden from curious eyes that are all too eager to share if they got a longer glimpse.

Steve is almost selfish in this way. A piece of him that he allows to surface only when she is around is not for public consumption, let alone with the people he knows and trusts for over a decade. He isn't afraid of what they would think. He's passed that now, ever since Pierce had dared to touch what was his, even if he hadn't admitted it to himself. There was never any ownership of a person in body, only in heart and soul who gave him the gift to worship at her temple.

Steve's kept secrets before. The truth about his medical history, Bucky's mind control, and how sometimes his polite persona holds much more rigid respect of the rules than he lets on at times. He doesn't want her to become one of them, hidden away and whispered like a quiet shame. She is anything but. His girl is powerful beyond measure, a simple twitch of her lips or a change in the pitch of her voice can render him weak against her wiles.

The Steve that hides somewhere in this bigger body still likes to be needed, to be acknowledged. To be someone. The inadequate feelings have since passed since she's come into his life, trusting and giving in a way that feels like a breath of fresh air. For once, he doesn't need to explain himself and his motives, to be questioned and his actions reviewed and critiqued. His motives here are rewarded. Parted wet lips with breathy pleas, fingers stretching and curling in time to every single thrust as the links of the cuffs clink together, the silky vice of her body squeezing him so tight that he swears he's found nirvana in her body.

A temple to be worshipped daily.

Hourly if he got his way.

He's done his research. The disc no bigger than the length of a credit card is on the lowest setting, vibrating inside her as she tries to focus on the waiter pouring the glasses of water. It was the simplest of instructions, to only wear the dress and the heels that stretched out her calves. She focused on the menu in front of her, Steve's fingers hovering over the circle on the app. Her lower lip moves over her teeth, a sign that it feels good but she can be distracted enough to scan the menu and take her mind off of it.

"What are you thinking?" Steve asks the question open-ended on purpose to gauge her reaction.

"Everything looks really good," she replies, innocent enough in a way that he almost feels a little guilty as he turns up the speed with a small swipe.

The small breathy sound that she makes as she sucks in a breath, her fingers curling into a fist on the menu makes him realize that he likes to watch her like this. The cause may be the electronic vibe but the effect of her body, her half-lidded eyes filled with lust as she knows the rules, is what makes it sweeter for him to take in. This is done at his own hand.

There is a single rule to abide by, spoken quietly in the car earlier so that only she could hear. He called it a challenge, knowing she was competitive when it came to games.

"If you can withstand the pressure tonight, I'll let you show me how you tie your knots," Steve had whispered against the shell of her ear, her eyes closing slowly as he knew what she was envisioning.

"Promise?" was her eager reply, her fingers gripping his own with anticipation.

"I promise. But if you can't, then I win our game and we go home so I can get my reward."

The details of this game are vague on purpose, Steve still toeing the line of politeness and taking what he wants. It isn't as black and white as he had thought it would be during those late-night flights flying the Quinjet back to the compound. There are gradients, he's realized. Safewords and dark thoughts meddled together in shades of gray. And red, yellow and green.

When the waiter returns, half of her water is gone, the napkin in her hands rolled in five different directions.

Ever the gentleman, Steve flashes her a smile that makes her eyes flutter back to the menu.

"Ladies first," he offers, watching her swallow hard as she tries to concentrate.

"I'll have the..." she trails off, blinking slowly as her eyes stayed closed longer than normal. "The... filet mignon."

"Excellent choice. For you, Sir?" the waiter inquires, his eyes going back to her and her soft breathing. Steve allows the stare but only for a few moments longer.

"I'll have the same," he replies, his finger swiping up the circle slowly.

The halted breath in her throat makes the waiter turn around at the sound, her hands in her lap as she fists the napkin, her arms moving so quickly that it looks like it's rolling in her hands.

"Everything alright, Miss?" The concern in his voice is noble, Steve notes, his own gaze on the man who has no idea what she's going through. And Steve, with a devilish smirk on his face, knows he will never found out.

"Ye-yes," she manages, her lips parted as she nods slowly.

When the waiter disappears, Steve allows himself to indulge in how she looks, the small arch of her back when she tries to get comfortable and he knows she's trying to find a spot where it won't be as sensitive.

"Everything okay, sweetheart?" The pet name is enough for her to make her lip tremble.

Though the curtains are pulled, leaving the two of them alone in this small space, the fact that anyone could walk in unannounced without seeing them coming is a thought that makes him feel more at ease with his decision of coming here.

The freedom to indulge that part of him he hides, the words he wants to say and the things he wants to do, it's an open invitation to speak his mind. The control that he longs for - the kind that makes him pause before he begins a command - floats to the surface as her eyes are closed, the small movement of her hips letting him know that she's putty in his hands.

"I know," Steve remarked, looking at the sparkling chandelier above them. "This place is really nice. Takes your breath away, doesn't it?"

A slight curve of his fingertip on the circle emits a low pant from her, a hint of her tongue pressed against her lips.

The words dance on the tip of his tongue, his gaze on her beautiful face as her eyes are half-lidded, a silent plea to let her win.

"You take my breath away," Steve begins, giving a small brush upwards on the app. "Especially knowing you're soaked under that dress."

Her eyes go wide, knowing he’s never spoken to her like this before they are interrupted by the waiter, who lingers a little too long at her as the plates are slid in front of them. Steve will allow only a few more seconds, watching the man's gaze over her features. He doesn't like to share and he isn't going to start now, her chest rising and falling slower with every breath as he dials it down.

"Thank you," Steve commands, in a voice that hides no other meaning than that time is up and that the man intruding on his space - and his girl - needs to leave. Once the drape is closed once more, he admires her trying to cut into her steak, fingers trembling as he turns up the dial with a slow smile.

"I just realized we never discussed what my reward would be."

"R-Reward?" she whispers, halting her movements for a moment before she focuses on her plate. Clever strategy, Steve thinks. Focusing on a menial task of preparing her bites of steak instead of him. But he's greedy tonight, the water in the glass all but gone as she places it back down.

"Of course. We already discussed what yours would be. I think it's only fair to talk about mine."

She swallows hard as he leans forward, watching her arms drop to her lap as she squeezes her thighs together, her breasts pushing up against the soft fabric.

"Sweetheart, are you going to lose our game already? I thought you were competitive."

Her eyes raise toward his own, flashing with defiance and he could end this dinner right now, take her home and sink into that tight, wet softness that only she can provide. But the game is far from over and the discomfort of his aching cock in his pants can wait. Steve has always been a patient man.

"I guess we'll be putting that spreader bar to good use tonight," he affirms, popping a bite of his perfectly cooked steak in his mouth with another swipe of the circle.

The fork hits the side of the plate with a loud ping, her eyes closed shut as her lower lip disappears into her mouth.

"Too rich?" Steve asks, a thin sheen of perspiration dotting her forehead. Her nipples are peaked through the satin dress, on display for anyone bold enough to try to look. "Tony did say the steak melts in your mouth here. You do the same for me, don't you?"

At the sound of the small commotion, the waiter opens the drape slightly, focused on her and not on Steve. She's close, Steve knows this and the fact that they are interrupted makes his fingers fist.

"Can I help you, son?" Steve asks carefully, the waiter's face flooded with embarrassment.

"I wanted to make sure everything was okay."

"Hmm," Steve replies in a low tone, almost teetering on the edge of a growl. "I think the lady looks great. How are you, sweetheart?"

"Good...." there's a light breathy moan at the end of her voice, the waiter realizing that he needs to leave as Steve sets his knife down on the plate.

"Sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Rogers. I, uh, let me know when you need anything."

"I sure will."

The minute the drape drops back into place, Steve leans forward, blue eyes glittering with determination.

"You're so close. You almost gave in. That little arch in your back, I know it when I'm inside you when you're almost on the edge. That little sound you make that only I can pull from you. It's all for me, right?"

Her eyes are closed now, the movement of the dress confirming her hips rolling against the chair. When she opens her eyes, he's hit with the shimmering of her tears, parted lips just like in his daydreams from the Quinjet. It's a silent plea for permission, knowing she won't win the game but the punishment is far worse if she doesn't use her manners.

"Admitting defeat?" Steve asks as he places another bite of steak in his mouth to savor. "You don't want me to help you? You'd rather an electric toy to make you cum?"

A tear rolls down her cheek at his reply, her breaths now in pants.

"You're gonna hurt my feelings."

Another swipe brings the circle almost to completion, a small space left before it closes.

"Are you sure you want this?"

Her head shakes no and then a nod, an inhale of a breath that shudders as her mouth moves to form the words.

"S-Steve, please."

"It's not up to me, remember? You don't need my help, it seems like. I bet you taste so good. All that stimulation and I wonder how tight you'd be around my fingers," Steve continues, his gaze making her fist her hands in her lap, the perspiration on her cheeks and down the valley of her breasts highlighted by the low light. "And how good you'd feel around my cock."

The whimper that escapes her lips is a low hiss, breasts bouncing slightly with every hard breath as she comes, tears rolling down her cheeks as the napkin she'd been gripping slips to the ground. Steve places his fork and knife on the plate, that sweet little sound of defeat as she tries to control her breathing like music to his ears. There's a far better reward for him in the future but now he knows he needs to claim his victory as she continues to ride out her orgasm, enough to make sure she's still going to want to play once he utters the words.

As he says them, he watches her eyebrows knit in determination amid the haze she's in.

"I win."

🕯

The paraffin candles he ordered flicker off to the side, the sight before him better than he could have ever imagined. The ankle spreader bar gave him unmitigated access to every part that he was going to conquer, the blindfold over her eyes as she was spread out over the bed, the nipple clamps on the lowest notch.

His reward was recited on the way back home, his fingers inside her as he listed everything he'd bought against her warm and damp skin. His endurance knew no bounds, something he knew he would use against her when he had to leave again.

A two-fold purpose for the night.

The candle is held high, dripping onto her skin like coordinates on a map, her breath a mix of a sigh and a moan as his mouth blows gently on the droplets that spread on the small of her back.

"Beautiful," Steve praises, pressing a kiss between her shoulder blades. "Still green?"

She can only nod her head, fingers curling as the cuffs clink gently, her tongue sweeping slowly over her lips.

Steve knows she won't be able to take much more, her eyes heavy with exhaustion as her body is marked all over with the red wax. He knows she won't say the words, still stubborn and headstrong from her defeat.

Which is why when his cock lines up with her entrance, she struggles to push him inside, his hands on her hips to keep her from moving.

"I'm gonna find him, sweetheart. Make him pay for what he's done and how he's hurt you," Steve asserts, the head of his cock sliding between her soaked folds as he hears a soft cry and her head nodding into the mattress. "You deserve the world. I'm going to make sure you get it."

The push inside her is slow, purposeful as his hands memorize her body once again, that sound he's been chasing filling his ears once more.

"I love you." Steve's voice is clear, her body freezing as she hears his declaration. "He's never going to hurt you again. I promise."

The shift in his position means she's helpless as he begins to move. It's unrelenting, the cries that he's grown to be addicted to only urging him on amid the heavy promise he'd just unleashed on her. He doesn't need her to say it back nor does he want to entertain the thought that she may not return that feeling. Steve only feels her and her alone, listening for her to tell him when she's had enough but it doesn't come. When she finally reaches the edge and shatters, she says his name like a mantra, almost beckoning him to join her.

It's white-hot, the way he pours into her, the thrumming of his heartbeat in his own ears that eases enough to hear her whisper as more tears run down her cheeks. The same words he'd spoken, clear despite her shaky breaths.

"I love you."

🕯

It's well into the night after she's carefully cleaned up, held in his arms with every utterance of praise as he applies the balm that reminds him of the nights of the gym.

Before she was fully his.

Every brush of his hand on her skin makes her sleepy, her head falling against his shoulder as he finishes, settled into bed before he joins her, carefully held in his arms.

She'll sleep through the night and into the morning. Maybe into the afternoon with how much she's endured.

But it's enough to give him a chance to make sure she's safe. Bruce will check-in in a few hours. Sam is at the ready and Bucky, at his own insistence despite Steve's denial, are both waiting for his direction.

There's a glance at her before he leaves, the cowl in hand and the shield at his back. She's safe and where she belongs.

This he doesn't need to worry about.

His thoughts are on Pierce.

Because tonight, he hunts.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hunt for Pierce comes to a close

Steve knows what it’s like to have a protector. Someone actively watching from the sidelines before a fight got overwhelming, keen to step in and assist.

That protector now stood at his side, steely blue eyes awash in concern and trepidation before he placed his hand on Steve’s shoulder, clamping down as he did so many decades ago when Steve needed him then when he was smaller.

Now they were both bigger and world-weary, focused on the same enemy as they had once before. History had a way of repeating itself.

“You didn’t have to come, Buck,” Steve begins, the anger rising like bile in his throat once more at the thought of Pierce. “I could do it.”

Steve could handle it. This much, Bucky knows and he doesn’t deny that fact before he nods, the metal hand a stark contrast against Steve’s stealth suit.

“You don’t have to do it alone. I want to be here, Steve. I owe you as much as I owe her.”

At the mention, Steve hopes she’s still asleep, safe within her dreams, still tucked away in his apartment and in his bed.

It’s a covert mission with Sam on the lookout above, with Steve and Bucky on the ground as they await Sam’s signal. Pierce has moved quickly, a sign that he knows that he's being followed.

“What’s she like?” Bucky asks, his voice low as he adjusts the guns in his holsters, his voice filled with curiosity. “I don’t know her... as me.”

After a moment, Steve answers, a smile spreading across his lips. "Perfect."

“Then we kill him,” Bucky responds after a moment. “No hesitation.”

“At least sixteen by my count,” Sam breaks through on the comms. “All armed. Pierce is inside.”

“On Steve’s command, we light it up,” came Bucky’s reply.

🕯

Taking out the first three was almost too easy.

Ever the expert assassin he had been trained to be, Bucky had cleared the first room within minutes, bullets clinking against his arm as Steve shielded him and staved off the additional gunfire with his own - a call back to their old war times. Maybe one day they would be sentimental about this parallel but for the moment, they kept their eyes on the enemy, sweeping floor to floor.

Sam continued with Bucky, leaving Steve to search for Pierce. Steve knows that it is a two-fold purpose. Bucky will have back up if they try to trigger him into the Asset headspace and Sam will know the man that Steve knows that Bucky is.

The treachery had been deeper than Steve had originally thought those weeks ago when a traitor had been confirmed. All of S.H.I.E.L.D. was now compromised, not knowing who was friend or foe. As he dispatched three more men on his way up to the office in this small unmarked building, his anger only grew, the need for vengeance taking hold as he took the stairs two at a time. He didn’t enjoy killing people. It was quite the opposite. A soldier did what he had to do to maintain justice and safety in this unforgiving world and he didn’t regret what he had to do.

But as he rounded a corner, taking out two more of Pierce’s men with a single flick of his shield, Steve knew he would enjoy hearing Pierce’s last breath.

With every step, Steve recalled the way she looked when she had closed the door behind her in the suite, the wild look in her eyes, a yearning to be set free from the invisible shackles that Pierce had placed upon her. The bruises that he'd inflicted by way of his best friend, held under the same mental prison.

Bruce's words still echo in his ear as the shield is held at his side, ready to be utilized at a moment's notice. Pierce had wanted her compliant, unconscious of what he had planned to do to her. He'd kept watch at her bedside for forty-eight hours, researching all he could about the drug could have taken her away from him and Pierce's plan to manufacture it.

The shield ricocheted against a wall, hitting two more men before he secured it back on his arm.

With the hallway clear, he continued forward, staving off the rage until he got to the doors, busting them open with a single kick.

The shield stopped Pierce from getting up where it lodged mere centimeters from the top of his head where he was sitting.

"I can always count on you to make a grand entrance, Captain," Pierce mused, debris raining down onto his suit jacket. "If you're thinking of taking me in, I suppose I don't have much of a choice. I'm sure all my men are down."

Pierce’s confidence only served to push Steve further into a rage. The thought of the optics, a man who answered to no one but held the entire free world hostage, trotted out in handcuffs for his lawyers to argue his case. In the past, Steve would have allowed for the path of least resistance, relenting to law and order.

He was past that now.

"What makes you think you're getting out of here alive?"

"Strong question from a man who always follows orders. You're upset about the girl, I get it," Pierce supplied with a smirk. "Didn't take you as the man to be into that sort of thing. I know you have the Asset. Did he tell you what he did? Before he turned into a hero, she was about to be debauched by him in front of the entire underground. On my order."

"Why her?" Steve's patience is shot, the leather gloves creasing with every curl of his fingers at the thought of what Pierce had planned.

"Why not? It's a big city, Captain. Who would miss a waitress? I'm sure you picked up on her submissive nature just like I did. Quiet, composed, and always eager to please. There was an innocence there that I couldn't find in anyone else in that place. It appears you liked it too. Perhaps we aren't as different as you think."

"And the drug?" Steve demanded, his hands slamming onto the table.

Pierce nodded slowly before his eyes met Steve's.

"I needed to know that it worked. Tell me, Captain. How was she when you had her in the suite? Was she pleading for you like she was for your friend? Can't hurt them if they don't know where they are. A blissful headspace and compliant body. There are people around the world that would pay good money for this."

Steve leaned over to rip the shield from the wall.

"You won't get the chance," Steve promised.

"Maybe not. But this has never been about me, Captain. It's always been about the bigger picture. We can change the world with a single drug. I wish you could have seen her face when it took hold. Absolute bliss on those pretty little features while she was unaware of what was going to happen. It's too bad I hadn't wiped the Asset as well as I'd done before otherwise it would have a proper demonstration. Body yielding to him under my command. She would have been unrecognizable to you if I'd finished. I'm not sure even Doctor Banner would have been able to put her back together," Pierce replied with a contemplative gaze.

The breaths that broke through Steve's clenched teeth were hard and fast, the anger rising to the surface so quickly that he saw red. The idea of losing her to Pierce, let alone the torment that she would have been subjected to, is enough to make him want to squeeze the life out of the man in front of him. To use his bare hands so that he could feel the last breath that he would choke from Pierce.

"He saved her," Steve shot back, the words that he wants to shout - to roar - bubbling up inside his chest that is at war with his own need for violence.

"We outnumber you, Captain. We always have. Even when you dismantled us before, we came back. This isn't any different. You're supposed to learn from history so that isn't repeated. Cut off one head-"

"Two more shall take its place," Steve finishes for him, glancing around the room before his glare focuses back on Pierce as the shield is at the ready. "Let's test that theory."

Pierce’s rant is cut off with a gurgle. Steve’s shield silencing anything else Pierce was going to say.

It had to end.

It was for Bucky, his best friend who still has months and perhaps years of deprogramming, therapy, and an introduction into a world that has changed over the decades. It was for her, the way she seized in fear when trying to explain the terror that Pierce had thrust upon her and what he planned to do, his promise that Pierce would never hurt again and that he dared to touch what was his.

There is only silence amid Steve's own breath as he wipes the blood off of the shield.

He doesn't see Bucky standing in the doorway, only sensing him before the shield is placed on his back.

"So it's done then," Bucky says quietly, almost reassuring in a way.

Steve gets to his feet, turning to look at his friend whose face seems to relax in a way he's never seen before.

A sense of peace.

Steve looks down at what's left of Pierce before he leaves the room.

"It is."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets introduced properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s dark inside the apartment when Steve enters, Bucky in tow as he looks around the space that his friend has come to call his own. There are still relics from the past, a ham radio on a shelf, an old record player on a side table, and pictures – so many photos that detail who Steve was and who he has become. When a light turns on in the hallway, Bucky freezes, unsure of what to do as Steve continues forward. This place is safe. Bucky knows this, but he still feels like a stranger, inserting himself into a life that has gone on without him.

The sound of a sweet voice gets his attention, the pretty face peeking over Steve’s arm to stare at him as he holds her close. There’s a curiosity in her eyes but also fear, something Bucky knows all too well that he is still trying to get out of his thoughts. Shuri’s work is progressing and his nightmares have ceased but consciously, he can still see all their faces, almost in slow motion as he is tuned into their terrified expressions.

Including hers.

Bucky doesn’t move when Steve brings her closer, her hand in his as his voice is low in her ear, telling her in small details of life before Bucky was the Winter Soldier. Before she knew him as the Asset. When Steve stops to give her time to adjust, to see him up close, she continues forward before she looks back at Steve. It’s a sign that she is okay, that she wants to do this on her own.

When she inches closer, he looks straight ahead, nervous to give direct eye contact that sends her steps backward, a reminder of the lost gaze from before. It’s only when his gray blue eyes meet hers, that she finally takes a step forward. And then another and another until she’s nearly touching his black combat boots.

Almost all of his missions have ended up in extermination and yet she’s here, alive and willing to look him in the eyes.

He wants to apologize, knowing the words will seem hollow despite what he's done to her and the things he was supposed to continue to do. He can see Steve in his peripheral, watching over both of them while her hand reaches up slightly to touch his arm. He opens his palm as her fingertips make contact with the metal, her view focused on his splayed fingers that she traces carefully, thumb brushing against the wrist and forearm. He's been used as a weapon for so long that he doesn't know what to make of her actions, her fingers expanding out under the arm as she gets to his bicep. Bucky forgets to breathe, her hand continuing up to his shoulder. It's the touch of a person who knows what it feels like to be hurt, to be used and it isn't until he feels the weight of her head against his chest that he realizes her arm is around his neck as the other arm follows suit to lock together.

It's an embrace, one that Bucky hasn't had in so long that the blurring of the room is solely from his own tears. It's acceptance, the way she presses her cheek against his jacket, his arms shaking as he settles his arms around her middle. He's careful to look at Steve, who simply stands back and gives a short nod of his head. There's a healing that needs to happen for both of them and Steve knows this, watching his best friend's hands shake as he holds the most precious thing in the world to Steve in his arms. To know that she would have been taken away from him makes Bucky thank whatever higher power that is looking down that Steve ended it. Bucky knows that he would have done the same.

"Bucky," she says quietly, her eyes closing once more. "You had a name after all."

🕯

It's still dark when Bucky wakes, watching the form hovering over him that freezes at his gaze, the blanket folded over her hands. He's kept watch at the door since Steve had gone to bed with her in tow, waiting for any intruder who would try to exact their revenge. For the life he's known - and trying to get back - he's never had to look over his shoulder as much as he does lately. The person he used to be remembers what it was like to be home, a sense of security and peace of mind that he now took for granted, even despite Steve's insistence that this place was just as much a home to Bucky as it was for him. Bucky knows the cold. The extreme temperatures that kept him barely alive, defrosted and reprogrammed until it became second nature.

Which is why he doesn't notice the cold when she brings the blanket. It's obvious she notices the drop in the temperature, the way she holds it out to him before he settles back. Sleep threatens his eyes and the small relaxation of his back and shoulders gives her the courage to drape the blanket over him, fingers tucking around the sides to make sure he's insulated as he closes his eyes. He can still feel her presence, disappearing for a moment before she returns, a pillow tucked under her arm that he sees from the small space of his eyes. He lifts his head in kind as the pillow slides behind him and he lets out a low sigh of relaxation.

The smile she provides is the last thing he sees, drifting off before a soft mouth brushes over his forehead before he can no longer feel her near, the heat from the blanket lulling him to sleep.

🕯

Steve doesn't ask about the blanket when he finally emerges from his bedroom, surprised to see Bucky still on the couch. He could have taken one of the guest rooms but he was content to be on the couch, waiting for an attack that never came. Shuri mentioned that his brain would be wired to be alerted to any threats as his adrenaline went to acceptable levels. His mind is quiet now, peaceful as the sound of the coffee pot stirs to life.

"Buck, there was a whole room for you," Steve reminds him with a low chuckle. "And you choose the couch."

"Force of habit," he points out, his flesh hand smoothing out the blanket. "To tell you the truth, I haven't slept that well in..."

The two share a knowing glance before Bucky clears his throat. He isn't ready to talk about the things that he's done, relishing this moment where he can just be, still shaking off the last dregs of sleep as he stands and begins to fold the blanket.

"She came to check on you last night," Steve muses as Bucky places the folded blanket on the couch and heads to a bar stool. "She kept asking if you were okay."

"Where is she?"

Steve turns his back as he grabs two mugs from the cabinet.

"Still asleep," he answers and Bucky knows the hesitation in his voice.

Girls attention used to escape Steve. Until Peggy. And definitely after he became the size he is now. There are so many questions he wants to ask Steve, to inundate him with inquiries like a man possessed with filling in the missing pages of a life that he's missed. There are new emotions that he's battling. A girl in his apartment that Steve has yet to mention, a friend named Sam who spoke to Bucky like he'd known him for years. He feels replaced, an outsider watching a film reel of someone else's life.

When the mug of coffee is placed in front of him, Bucky tries to give a smile, the weight of his world slowly building back onto his shoulders.

"Things sure have changed," Bucky says before he tastes his coffee.

"What do you want to know?" Steve offers, bracing his weight on his hands that are on the counter. "I don't know where to start."

"Pierce. Where do we go from here?"

Steve exhales loudly at the question. It's worth asking. The intel was filtered to Sharon and Natasha, the legal battles already building as personal records were combed through for Hydra affiliations. With Pierce gone, the organization would scramble in the meantime until they eventually regrouped and rebranded. There's still a debriefing that Steve is putting off for the time being, avoiding Tony's questions and Bucky and Sam's involvement. Right now, he wants to allow himself a single day where there are no responsibilities except to check that she's still asleep, worn out from the night prior. Steve couldn't get enough of her, the reaction of knowing she was safe and the trust and care she showed his best friend.

"Nat will be doing some work on that front but we have a little while to go."

Bucky nods at Steve's answer, gripping the mug in his hands.

"You gonna tell me about her?" Bucky asks with a nod toward the hallway.

"Eventually," Steve promises, bringing the mug to his lips and taking a drink to avoid the inevitable conversation.

"Does Tony know?"

There's a two fold purpose in his question. To see if Tony is still frustrated over the break in protocol and if Steve has already shared his personal life with the man who ended up being Steve's confidante.

"Not a thing. You and Sam know about her. I'd like to keep it that way."

"I wouldn't tell a soul, man," Bucky says. "I see the way you look at her. She's something special."

Steve pauses for a moment, an easy smile appearing on his lips. It's a secret that he's not willing to share at the moment and Bucky can respect that. It's mysterious enough that if he was feeling better, he'd have no problem goading his best friend into spilling the truth. But for now he's contemplative, wondering where the day will take him now that he seems to have nothing but time.

"I was wondering," Steve says, changing the subject as he places the empty cups into the sink. "If you'd wanna stay here for a few weeks. It's a familiar place that isn't the compound. Might be nice to wake up in your own room for a little."

Bucky blinks, the weight of the offer heavier than it needs to be as he overthinks. There are a million what ifs. What if he triggers again? What if Steve isn't around to protect her?

"Buck, we're gonna be fine," Steve reminds him, breaking him out of his stupor as a carton of eggs is placed on the counter. "It's a simple yes or no."

Steve continues to pile items on the counter for breakfast, every sound inching Bucky closer to his answer.

"Okay. Yeah."

Steve gives a knowing nod before he smiles.

"Good. I was hoping you'd say that."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is given a new assignment after Hydra seeks revenge. Steve flexes his control and patience when his order is ignored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

Bucky wakes with a start, eyes wide open at the prospect at the memory of the chamber, the quick freeze of his joints that made it impossible to move. His breaths are hard, short as his chest feels like it will collapse. These memories he will have to endure as his sessions with Shuri continue. The blanket falls to a heap and he reaches it before his head snaps to attention.

He’s not alone, he can see her clearly as she hides near the hallway. The guilt that floods him renders him silent, his eyes dropping to the floor. He’s aware of how this looks, his body rigid and still, as if he was under Pierce’s control again.

She could easily run back to Steve and he would wait for him to come out, to check on him like he would expect him to. His time in Shuri’s lab takes up most of his days, her attention to detail and commitment to de-fragmenting his mind something he continues to be indebted to her for doing. The painful memories he doesn’t want to recall still surface from time to time, her calm instructions to make peace with his past and to forgive himself is easier said than done. Shuri knows this but she’s patient, seen the tears that flow down his cheeks at he recalls their names and what he’s done in the safe space that no one else would dare enter.

His shoulders lower slightly, his lungs starved for air that he didn’t know he had been constricting. His tongue runs over his dry lips, evaluating his next action. Her eyes drift to the blanket that still pools on the ground and he picks it up, pulling it onto the couch as the final shudder of the dream leaves him, his fists tightening before he relaxes his hands.

Lowering himself back onto the couch, Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, trying to count his breaths before the anxiety begins to take hold. When he opens his eyes, he feels the blanket being lifted over him, her fingers trembling as the blanket follows her movements. He can feel her body heat, the way she smells so sweet. The moment she drops the blanket around him, he lifts it back up.

It’s an invitation, one that he isn’t sure of what he’s doing but the instinct is strong to follow through. She dips down onto the couch, her body pressed against his own as his breath steadies at the touch of her back against him. Her head settles against his metal arm as his other hand pulls the blanket over them, inhaling the scent of her shampoo as he closes his eyes. A sense of acceptance, something he’s been chasing for years – maybe decades – waits for him as he crosses the finish line with the close of his eyes as sleep finally comes.

🕯

“Buck.”

Steve’s voice barely registers in Bucky’s brain before his eyes snap open. He’s good with his hearing but for the first time in days, he’s finally slept, and his senses are still recalibrating. It’s before dawn and Bucky pushes up on his elbows. Steve doesn’t comment on him still taking up residence on the couch when there’s a room waiting for him down the hall. There’s an unspoken acceptance that Steve will continue to let Bucky keep watch until he feels the need not to.

She’s gone. Bucky notices immediately and for a moment, he wonders if he had been dreaming the entire time. It felt real, the feel of her soft skin against his own, the way his hand fit atop the hill of her hip.

Steve isn’t in his usual running attire. The track pants are replaced with a pair of dark slacks, a white shirt and shiny black shoes. Bucky knows the expression on his best friend’s face and he nods before he can speak, the first last pangs of sleep dissolving as before Steve looks back at the hallway.

“The Security Council knows about Pierce,” Steve informs him, his voice holding no remorse. “They want a full explanation.”

“It wasn’t just you, Steve,” Bucky reminds him, with a slow shake of his head.

“They don’t know it was you and Sam. I want to keep it that way. For both your sakes. I already have Tony up in arms about it, saying we should have done it as a team. He doesn’t get it.”

Steve looks back at the hallway, his chest dropping slightly as a sigh leaves his mouth.

“I need a favor.”

“Anything,” Bucky responds. He doesn’t know what Steve is going to ask but he’s sure it has to do with the body that has taken up residence in his bed.

“They’re going to come after her. Retaliation. I can’t let that happen,” Steve vows, his attention turning back to Bucky. The determination in his eyes is something Bucky has seen more than a handful of times in his life. There will be no talking him out of whatever he is planning to do.

“You want me to stay with her,” Bucky finishes with a nod. “Keep her safe.”

“I know I shouldn’t be asking you. But you’re the only one I trust.”

Steve pauses for a moment, an upturn at the corner of his lips before his attention is back to Bucky.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Shuri said your next appointment is still on the books so I should be back by then. Just,” Steve says, looking back at the hallway. “Don’t let her sweet talk you into going downtown.”

Bucky lifts his hand to his forehead, giving him a salute.

“She’ll like you, pal. I promise.”

🕯

A cup of coffee is waiting on the coffee table when he wakes, the steam rising and evaporating into the air. Bucky isn’t sure when he went back to sleep but it’s full sunlight, bright and blinding, his eyes trying to adjust to the wash of color inside the apartment. The activity down the hall catches his attention, the door closing before he sees her.

Like a deer in headlights, her eyes are wide, still in her pajamas that showcase her legs.

“I didn’t think you’d be awake,” she says, continuing her walk toward the kitchen. “I can make us breakfast.”

Bucky’s gaze moves from her to the kitchen. He’s been surviving off bread and butter, something he wasn’t allowed as the Asset. Steve hasn’t said a word about the cereal and milk that seemingly goes missing in the middle of the night. It’s an indulgence that Bucky can’t stop himself from having. Nor does Bucky comment on the fact that Steve has doubled up on the cereal boxes and has included additional boxes for him to try.

Which is why he has to break himself out of the habit when she asks what he wants to eat. Pots and pans settle onto the stove as the fridge opens and closes. The breakfast at the compound is usually premade and he’s curious to see what she’s going to make.

It’s standard fare, eggs and bacon that he watches from the bar stool, still silent but a presence enough to make her so nervous that she accidentally cracks an egg into the trash. He’s entranced with how quickly she moves, the shell breaking gently against the bowl before the yolk slides down to join the others. She adds a bit of heavy cream and Bucky straightens at the action as another memory is jolted into his mind.

His mother.

“One more splash,” Bucky interjects, and she holds the carton tighter at his command.

Tilting it quickly, she does what he asks and she whisks it without speaking. He wants to ask her why she slept next to him last night and why she left, even if it’s a rejection that he knows would make sense. His teeth drag against his lower lip as her back turns, the snap of the burner urging him on to ask.

“You… slept next to me last night,” he begins, her shoulders tensing up. “Why?”

The scrape of the spatula against the pan quiets, her voice a near whisper as she answers him.

“You were having a nightmare.”

It’s said so matter of fact that Bucky almost asks her to repeat it. He’s known comfort before, way back before he was who he is now. The brush of his mother’s hand over his hair before she set his breakfast down, to Steve’s well-placed touches on his shoulders when he was strong for the both of them.

“I could have hurt you,” he tells her, his voice filled with worry. “I’m not fixed all the way yet.”

She looks back at him, deep brown eyes that seem to look right into his soul as she gives him a small smile, a dimple in her cheek appearing.

“Neither am I.”

When the plate is set down next to him, he waits for her to sit next to him. There is an unspoken bond, the way she just accepts him. Her calf brushes against his own as she settles into her seat. He’s quiet for a moment, processing what she’s told him. Both of them used by Hydra. Him as a weapon and her as a pawn. He knows they’ll recover, maybe her quicker than him but he’s grateful for her, the way she acknowledges him in her life. Not many have wanted to, even now that he’s feeling like himself again.

“The extra splash,” Bucky beings, shoveling a heap of eggs on his fork. “My ma used to make ‘em like that.”

She’s cautious as she takes a small stab of her own eggs, taking a small bite before her eyebrows lift in happiness with a nod.

“She was onto something,” she agrees. “Double splash. Good advice.”

🕯

It’s only when they are inside a small restaurant, with yellowed tables and peeled laminate that he realizes Steve was right.

She sweet-talked her way into going downtown and he hadn’t even known. It was simple enough, the way she had asked him about his favorite foods. Next thing he knew, he was holding up a flatbread as he inspected it carefully.

“What is it called again?” he asks, watching her eyes sparkle in amusement.

“Roti. It’s good, right?”

Bucky repeats the word in his head, another item to add to his list of favorite foods. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a face and he blinks, going rigid as the flatbread falls from his fingers and onto the paper plate.

“What is it?” she asks, her voice alarmed as Bucky trains his gaze on a man that moves past the window.

He knows the face, the sneer of the man that moves through the people on the sidewalk. That face is the face of a man who tortured him, pulled him out of cryo and reactivated him time and time again. He won’t go back, he decides, his fingers pulled into fists so tight that he isn’t aware of how painful his fingers are clenching until he hears his name being called as a soft hand covers over his hand.

At her touch, he reels back, making her sit flat against the booth. His breaths are heavy, his eyes blinking as he’s brought back to reality.

“Bucky? What happened?” she asks, her voice wavering with fear.

He wants to tell her, in every single detail because he remembers it all. The way he fought back and was ultimately subdued, the trigger words that turned his brain against him and how much he wants to pound the man’s face into the pavement.

“Tell me what to do,” she begs, her other hand stacking on top of his. “I… I can show you how Steve helps me.”

Bucky watches as she lifts up his wrists, trying to hold them together as her eyebrows furrow. At her touch, he relaxes, his fingers unfurling slowly. When he looks up again, he sees no sign of the man that interrupted his thoughts.

“Steve can hold my wrists with one hand,” she mentions quickly, her thumb and middle finger stretching around his wrist as she tries to hold it. “I think my hands are too small but… he keeps me calm like this.”

Bucky nodded, staring at her hands that were earnestly trying to grip his wrists. He made a mental note to ask Steve about this later but for now, he was intrigued, watching her look at him hopefully.

“It helped,” Bucky says.

It isn’t a lie, he’s distracted now, his breathing back to normal as he centers himself as Shuri taught him.

When she lets go, Bucky takes her hands in his own, holding her wrists together. At the touch, he can see her eyes gaze down to his hand, gleaming metal that shines under the lights, her breathing deeper than before. The soft sigh catches his attention and she lowers her head.

“Like that?” Bucky asks, noting that she makes no move to pull away.

She nods slowly before he releases her and she blinks slowly, eyes focused on him before the eye contact breaks and she pulls her hands down back at her sides slowly.

“I guess we should head back,” she reminds him, her voice barely carrying over the music inside the restaurant.

They don’t mention it again as Bucky pays, walking her back to the apartment as he continues to look around for any sign of the man and any threat that may come their way.

🕯

Steve bides his time at dinner, his self-doubt creeping in as he watches her. The Security Council has accepted his recollection of events at the moment, though he knows that they’ll dig for more once they digest his answers. Tony’s frosty reception still nags in the back of his head, a rift that he knows he will need to repair. He isn’t ready to talk about her yet.

What she means to him is more precious than he can say. He can endure the teasing and the jokes at his expense, but he isn’t going to address the feelings he has, especially the ones that lurk under the surface of his exterior appearance. With a passing glance at Bucky, he knows she broke a rule and he’s been thinking about all the ways he will assert his claim, to urge those sounds that he’s greedy for, even as he takes a sip of wine.

The look he shares with Bucky is one that she doesn’t notice, her gaze on the plate that lifts in front of her as Bucky clears the table. When her gaze settles back to Steve, whose smile stays on his face as he leans forward.

“Did you have a good time in the city today?” he asks, his voice deceivingly casual.

At his question, he knows that she’s caught. No matter the answer, she’s gone against what he asked her to do. His peers going against his orders is one thing. He’s dealt with it before, the stubbornness of Natasha and Tony’s headstrong reasons for deviating against a plan. They can argue after the battles are won when egos are at their most delicate and they will always overcome. Every single one of them has been touched by trauma, their resolve strong to survive whatever comes their way.

He isn’t willing to compromise with her life. Not after how close he came to having her slip out of his fingers and into Pierce’s hands. He’s told himself over and over that he isn’t willing to compromise, to share her with the world.

But Bucky isn’t the world.

It was laughed off, Bucky’s laughter unheard while she was in the shower as he told Steve about his prediction coming true. Steve was never worried about her being safe – Bucky would save her ten times over, he knows this – but it’s the story that follows of the man that he saw in the window and her willingness to help him in the way Steve has helped her that makes Bucky pause.

The question is there, Steve can tell by the way Bucky stopped short of asking, looking down at his own wrists as he recites what she did. It’s a territory that Steve has never encountered before, his chest tight at simultaneously wanting to explain and to show him what he’s become and continues to become.

Bucky has always accepted him. From his smaller size to where he is now. Which is why when he tries to delve into his reasons, he falls short and simply decides to show him.

She doesn’t answer him, her mouth moving slightly before she gives up and gives him a short nod.

“I asked you to stay here,” Steve reminds her, pushing away from the table slowly. “I want to keep you safe, sweetheart.”

At his disappointment, he can see her eyes lower to her lap, the guilt seeping in as she nibbles on her lower lip.

“You know Buck would do anything for you. Apparently, that means using him to go around what I asked.”

At that, she shakes her head, Steve getting up from his chair as she follows suit, wringing her hands as Steve continues down the hallway. The anticipation of not knowing how she will react, his senses on high alert as he closes the door behind them.

“I didn’t mean to,” she responds behind him, his hands gripping the cuffs.

“You did,” Steve answers calmly. “It’s okay to be honest.”

“Are you… are you mad?”

He can hear the worry in her voice, and he fights back the urge to comfort her amid the feeling of needing to course correct. To teach her a lesson.

“No. Disappointed.”

He closes the drawer back and turns to her, eyes glassy with tears. Her gaze settles on the cuffs and she surrenders, stepping close to him before he lifts his head.

“I want it all off,” he instructs, her trembling fingers slipping down to the bottom of her shirt as she pulls it up and off. Her bra, shorts and underwear follow until he nods in satisfaction, knowing he’ll never stop being in awe of how beautiful she truly is.

Tonight, he will test her boundaries as well as his own.

She doesn’t argue when he settles his back against the headboard, legs splayed wide as she lays in between them, the cuffs clicking into place as her head rests between the junction of his thighs.

By his gaze alone, he knows she is nervous, her eyes not leaving his as he drinks in his fill of her body.

“You can make it up to me,” Steve begins, his smile soft as she nods earnestly. “You can make it up to both of us.”

The brush of knuckles against the door is all she needs to know of what is to come. At the sight of Steve holding onto her wrists, Bucky’s eyes sweep over her body.

“Eyes on me,” Steve says, her chin tilting up to look at him, her chest rising and falling faster as Bucky’s knee dips onto the mattress.

Steve nods, Bucky’s other knee sinking into the bed as his hands slide around her ankles and she allows him to uncross her legs, pulling them taunt gently, his thumbs gliding against her skin as he parts them slowly and yet, with a sense of greed.

“Color.”

Steve breaks her out of her stupor before she finally answers.

“Green,” she whispers softly.

The cuffs clink as she responds to Bucky’s mouth against her ankle, one at a time as he reaches her calves. Steve watches her face, doe brown eyes still focused on him before her eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his teeth nipping at the inside of her knee.

The metal against her thigh distracts Steve for a moment, giving her a moment to look down as Bucky halts when their eyes meet.

“No,” Steve reminds her, tugging on the cuffs over her head. “Eyes on me. Go on, Buck. Spread her open.”

The breath that leaves her parted lips makes Steve’s eyes darken as Bucky’s hands spread her legs wider, his mouth skating against the sensitive skin on her thighs, stopping short of getting close to where Steve knows he wants to be.

Her breasts bob slightly with every hard breath, fingers curling and uncurling against the cuffs as the rhinestones glitter under the low light. Her eyes are squeezed shut, only opening briefly to stare up at Steve in anticipation.

Touch is where Bucky thrives, his fingers pressing into her flesh before he lowers his head before his tongue flattens against her slit and she lets out a soft cry, the column of her throat exposed to Steve and he wonders how hard he could mark her with his teeth.

A whimper at Bucky’s mouth against her, loud and wet, makes Steve drop her cuffed hands above her head, his own hands circling the swell of her breasts gently before his fingers knead her nipples between them, her breaths frantic before Steve realizes what is happening and delves into Bucky’s hair, twisting it to pull his head up gently with enough pressure to get him to know he’s gone too far.

“Not yet,” Steve commands, Bucky’s mouth shiny with her slick as he nods in agreement, Steve’s hold on his hair releasing as he presses a kiss against her thigh, licking his lips as he slides back onto the bed, sitting upright as he gazes at her body, soft and warm against the sheets.

She whines underneath him at the loss, mouthing Steve’s name as a tear rolls down her cheek.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” Steve warns, pulling her up gently until she’s sitting between his legs, ankles around his thighs as Bucky looks on.

“You wanna give him a show?”

Steve tilts her chin up, kissing her before she keens, his thick finger sliding into her slick channel. At the addition of another finger, Bucky watches intently, the bulge in his pants unmistakable as Steve presses them deeper inside.

If he’s ever felt raw power, it’s now, the sounds he was greedy to hear before now rolling off her lips willingly and to his ears. This is more than teaching her a lesson. Steve knows this and so does Bucky, the way that Bucky watches her stomach contract with another finger. Steve has soothed her wounds, cradled her head during her nightmares. This sharing of her – of them – is something he’s certain he’ll only ever do with Bucky. The only person he can truly be himself around. Tonight has proved that.

Still, he gets a sense of security and possession when she calls out his name, begging him to let her come, her voice wavering on the edge of tears as his fingers pump in and out of her. He knows she’s close, the way her walls are like a vice against his fingers.

“What do you think, Buck? Should I?”

There is no hesitation in Bucky’s voice when he gives his approval.

The movement of his hand has her melt in his arms, the low whimper silenced by Steve, who seeks to devour the last of her noises like a man dying of thirst.

“Maybe Buck needs a turn now,” Steve says against her ear. “What do you say?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are consequences of waking up to an empty apartment. Steve finally faces his insecurities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

It feels strange when I wake up, the apartment silent as I slide my hand over to where Steve was asleep hours before.

There’s no sound of the TV in the living room, where Bucky is usually perched with his cereal as he catches up on cartoons he’s missed. Ninja Turtles is his favorite, by far. But it’s still too quiet when I finally lift my head.

I know Steve is at work, busy at the compound and that usually, Bucky is here.

I remember it all from the night prior. How their hands and their mouths worked me over and over until I couldn’t think.

And it appeared now that they were gone.

It shouldn’t have felt as strange as it did to see the blankets folded neatly. Both of them were always tidy. But the pang of desertion that hit made me swallow hard as I looked around the room.

Maybe we’d gone too far.

Or it was me.

It wasn’t until I set down two cups of coffee that I realized I was fully alone. The drugs were finally out of my system. Dr. Banner had promised me that they were and yet, I couldn’t stop the sadness that was taking over as I poured the coffee down the sink.

I knew I had made his job harder. The things I’d told him about Pierce, the actions he took that now had him in meetings almost every day to be examined by committees to figure out his punishment. None of them could agree on what would be fitting for his vigilante outburst. It was all my fault.

When the sting of the tears hit, I know what I was supposed to do. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

What I want – what I need – are his hands, gripping my wrists as his voice in my ear tells me it’s okay. Like he did the night prior, supplicating me with praise as I try to remember the aftercare. He’s never forgotten.

I just wish I could keep remembering.

Especially when I’m spiraling.

🕯

When the final panel finishes their questioning, a ripple of worry goes through his body when he checks his phone. There’s usually an emoji, a little story of her day or a candid picture of Bucky doing something mundane that she finds endearing, such as when he stands out in the morning sun.

Steve knows that he didn’t get many days out in the sunshine and so he takes those and saves them for later, to remind Bucky that he’s in a safe place.

But the lack of communication concerns him, even when he knows she’s afraid to bother him during these meetings.

The council still hedges on what they want to do to him. Steve will not back down. He won’t ever apologize for keeping her safe when no one else would. But now, he’s unsure of leaving her, knowing that Bucky is back with Shuri for the time being to finish out the final phases of his deprogramming.

This is why when he finally gets home and the apartment is dark, his heart begins to race with the fact that she may be gone. There is no sign of anything out of place and he pauses in the living room before he hears a soft sniffle from their bedroom.

In her sleep, she whimpers, the cuffs attached to her wrists. She sleeps on his side of the bed, her head buried into his pillow. He sees the metal peeking out from the heavy comforter, his heart finally slowing before he sees her tear-stained cheeks.

He’s come home countless of times to her in their bed. A space that was once only for him as he wished for someone to share it with. He can’t imagine going back to having it all to himself as he shrugs off his jacket and shirt, unbuckling his belt and sliding out of his jeans before he dips down into the bed. Steve hasn’t been touch starved since she’s come into his life but he feels it now, the pressing urge to have her against him, to know that she’s in his arms.

She is in a deep sleep, a far cry from when she first came here, her eyes opening at every sound before she tried to slip out the door. This is how he knows she’s comfortable, his mouth brushing against her forehead as a soft hiccup erupts from her lips and he curses the fact that he left her alone. 

He can’t help but pull her closer in an attempt to feel more of her warm skin on his own. He still can’t bring himself to express how important she is to him. How his world is contained in one single body that sighs at the contact of his lips against hers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice still thick with sleep as she presses her head against his chest. “It’s my fault.”

Steve knows what she’s alluding to. She’s never said it outright but he saw the mix of relief and fear on her face when he broke the news about Pierce. Though he’s her protector, she is his as well.

“It isn’t your fault,” Steve admonishes gently, cupping her face as more tears brim on her lash line. “Sweetheart, what happened today?”

“You were gone. Bucky was gone.”

The words make sense as he realizes her sub drop, hauling her over his body as she buries her head in his chest.

“I thought…”

“Would I ever leave you?” Steve asks, his own voice wavering at the thought. He can’t fathom leaving her. Not ever.

Her body molds to his as she shakes her head, trying to fight back tears.

“Use your words. I want to hear the truth.”

“N-no,” she answers, muffled against his skin.

“You have to call me when you get like this. Cuffs aren’t always going to work,” Steve reminds her, his eyes focused on her sweet face as he strokes the apples of her cheeks gently. “I love you. You’re my world, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.”

Steve swears he’ll never tire of hearing her promise, the adoration in his eyes as the cuffs shift with her movement.

“Do you want me to take them off?”

Her answer is swift as she shakes her head, her head resting over his heart.

“Is Bucky coming home?”

At her question, Steve tries not to tense up. It’s been weighing heavily on his mind if she prefers Bucky over him, the way he watched Bucky’s arm over the two of them as he left for the morning. Both victims, Steve knows that they have more in common than anyone ever should have, subjected to the horrors that creates a bond that he knows he will never understand.

But it’s there, the small piece of him that knows he wouldn’t blame her if she did. The small Steve that was always picked last is at the front of his mind, even holding her in his arms, still wondering if he’s good enough.

“Maybe in the next few days,” he answers, trying to ignore the feelings of inadequacy that have been buried longer than he’s realized. “Do you miss him?”

“Is he safe?” she asks quietly, her hands resting under her chin as she looks into his eyes.

“Yes.”

Even in this small exchange, he prepares himself for the inevitable if she chooses Bucky over him. Bucky has always had more experience with women, even the night prior, when Steve saw how she reacted to his touch.

“I need you, Steve. I always do.”

He doesn’t react. Not at first. The words sink into his psyche, dissolving any worry that he’s been holding onto as her lips form into a soft smile.

“I don’t mind if you share me with Bucky. But I want to be yours.”

The soft gasp of surprise when he straddles her on top of him makes her eyes shine in amusement.

“All mine?” Steve asks, unable to hide the smile – or the triumph – that takes over.

The first touch of his freed cock nestled against her ass makes her eyes lower.

“All yours,” she promises, lifting her hips up as she sinks down slowly on top of him, the head of his cock slowly nudging inside her as her fingers lightly scratch his chest in response. It’s a position she’s never felt brave enough to do but tonight, he wants to see her watch him fall apart.

Like he’s watched her do so many times.

The breathy inhale when she sinks as far as she can go is only heightened by the tremble of her thighs as she closes her eyes.

“Open them,” Steve orders lightly. “I want to see what you do to me.”

When her eyes flutter open, he can’t ignore the sweet pressure as she surrounds him with tight, wet heat. It doesn’t take long for her to begin to move, the first roll of her hips forward making his head fall back on the pillow.

“Good girl,” Steve urges, his fingers brushing against her sensitive nipples as she leans into his touch, eager for more. “Keep going, beautiful. You feel so good.”

At the praise, her walls tighten like a vice, Steve’s eyes closing before he realizes what he’s doing. Above him, the first hints of a determined smile begin on her lips as she rocks forward faster, lifting just enough to keep in the tip before she sinks back down slowly.

“Gonna kill me,” he promises, knowing that she won’t last long, judging by the small tremble in her thighs.

Her palms are flat against his chest as she rides him, his legs braced on the bed to keep her steady as she gets closer to the end, her pants like a chorus to bring him with her.

“I love you,” she reminds him, her voice urgent as if she’s trying to show him – physically and vocally – that he matters.

He knows this, his hands at her waist, his grip so firm that he knows there will be bruises left behind. More will be birthed before the dawn.

It will be an honor to kiss every single one as he lets his eyes close once more, the sound that escapes his own mouth joining hers as her lips meet his as he pulls her against him, filling her completely as he wonders if he’ll ever mark her another way.

In this moment, the nagging in the back of his brain has been silenced.

When the fog finally lifts, only she is left.


End file.
